


To Divide Is Not To Take Away

by Lady_Vibeke



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Accidental Relationship, Angst, Bisexual Cara Dune, Bisexual Din Djarin, Bisexual Power Triad, Bounty Hunters, Demisexual Din Djarin, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Jealousy, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Pre-OT3, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Threesome - F/F/M, confused idiots, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22926148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: “We can bring you in warm or we can bring you in cold. Your choice.”There is no choice, actually: if they don't catch her alive, she's worthless. But, whether she knows this or not, she doesn't seem too bothered. In fact, her head tilts slightly to one side and back, in Cara's direction. Without an apparent reason, her blaster lowers as a smirk starts forming across her lips."Carasynthia,” she purrs. She turns around, letting her pistol fall into the cushions at her feet. “What a pleasure to see you after such a long time."Din's boldness falters: not only does this woman know Cara, but she can recognise her only by her voice. And Cara seems petrified, staring at their target with with eyes wide and full of shock."Fuck."Cara lowers her blaster, too.This is not good."You know her?" Din inquires with a tone that is a mixture of surprise and betrayal."I wish I didn't,” replies Cara while shoving her blaster back into her belt, her glaring eyes still weighing on the woman. “Please, don't ask."ORA ghost from Cara's past unexpectedly shows up and throws off the delicate balance between her and Din. In more ways than one.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/Original Female Character, Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 130





	1. The Game Changer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boredom-is-contagious](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=boredom-is-contagious).



> This is what happened: [boredom-is-contagious](https://boredom-is-contagious.tumblr.com/) and I were fangirling over Gina Carano and Michelle Rodriguez fighting in Fast & Furious 6 and ideas started sparking. This is what came out of that conversation. The OFC in this fic is totally and shamelessly inspired by miss Michelle Rodriguez and her beautiful BDE.

_True Love in this differs from gold and clay:  
That to divide is not to take away._

― Percy Bysshe Shelley, Epipsychidion

  
  


***

  
  


Cara is trying to pluck a big chunk of meat out of the kid's mouth when Din joins her at the table.

"Anything good?" she asks without taking her eyes from the child, who is very stubbornly holding on to his food.

Din gives the child a light stroke on his head, then sets down the holoprojector Greef gave him along with the description of their next target and turns it on. The bust of a woman buzzes into focus: a messy bob of dark hair bleached by the sun, tan skin, strong shoulders. Her features are concealed by a skull-like mask: it gives her an air of defiant confidence that shines through the dark, clever eyes.

“Sheya Amhir," he says, pushing the hologram across the table for Cara to see. "Thirty-three years old. Rebel. The client wants her alive.”

Cara finally manages to pry to piece of meet from the kid's mouth. She drops it into the bowl in front of her and licks her fingers clean while casting the hologram a mildly interested glance.

"Wanted alive at such a young age? What has she done?"

It's a good question. When people are wanted alive, it rarely ends well, for them. This young woman is a mercenary and a thief, but her records as a criminal are not remotely enough to justify the considerable bounty upon her.

"There's certainly more to her than her profile reports."

"Who's the client?"

"They prefer to stay anonymous. Greef got the commission from an agent."

"What's the deal with the mask?" asks Cara, observing their target with a light scowl.

"Someone says she's disfigured,” Din explains, repeating what Greef told him when he handed him out the assignment. “I rather think she does that to go unnoticed _without_ it. No one ever got close enough to her to see what lies beneath the mask.”

It's a good bounty, if they can bring Amhir in alive. She's been on the run for years and is famous for her ability to sneak away from hunters in the direst circumstances. If they plan this well, Din is sure he and Cara together can take her down relatively quickly and with minimum damage. Cara always loves a challenge and he always loves watching her take charge in a mission. This is going to be interesting.

“Who cares about her face?” says Cara as she turns off the hologram. “Let's go get this bitch and let's do this quick. I need new boots and the kid eats like a damn Wookie."

  
  


*

  
  


It takes a while to track Amhir down. She's as sneaky as the romours about her promise and her whereabouts are erratic, seemingly aimless, as though she moved without a plan or a precise destination.

They catch her on Coruscant after three weeks of research. They follow her across the dirtiest alleys of Galactic City, the kid safely locked inside his pram to protect him from indiscreet eyes. When she finally enters one of the buildings, Cara snorts.

“A brothel? Are you kidding me?”

Din waits for Amhir to disappear beyond the doors to peek out from around the corner: the neon sign above the entrance says _'Galaxy Dolls'._ It's a club for women lovers only.

“Our target likes beautiful ladies, apparently,” Din observes. He anticipated the little chuckle Cara sends him.

“Can't blame her," she winks, hiding her blaster under the cowl she's wearing to conceal her armour. Din isn't half as lucky: his disguise makes him look like a Tusken Raider, which definitely serves the purpose, but he doesn't feel at ease without his helmet, even though the leather mask covers the entirety of his head. His Beskar would have caught too much attention, around here.

The chuckle on Cara's lips is still there when, after a few minutes of precautionary wait, she sneaks out of their hiding place, turning to nod at Din to follow her.

“Shall we?”

The plan simple: they go inside and blend in with the patrons. Din will be the one to first approach the target and distract her with a diversion, which will grant Cara a good chance to catch her by surprise. With a little luck, no blood will be shed.

Girls of all races work here, each of them wearing the golden cuff on their right hand that marks them as _entertainers._

Amhir is sitting in a secluded corner: she's drinking Corellian spirit with two Twi'lek girls who seem very intrigued by her. The cut of her mask leaves her mouth free to drink and kiss as much as she likes without giving away any key detail of her features.

“That doesn't look very practical,” Cara mutters as she and Din move toward the bar.

“Sometimes you have to make it do,” Din mutters back.

Cara hides her grin into the hood draped around her head.

“Why don't you go over there and bond with her over this?” she teases, and Din really wishes she could see him roll his eyes.

“Very funny.”

It doesn't matter that she can't see him: the sly way she glances at him before wandering off to disappear among the crowd tells him she knows that he's actually amused. Sometimes it still amazes him how well they've settled together, how quickly she learned to pick up his slightest cues. This is why they make such a good team: their minds think alike, the instincts are similar. The bond they developed – so soon, so fast – often makes them act as one, and more than once Din has caught himself wondering if their mutual attachment is as confusing to her as it is to him.

Din sighs, slumping down into a stool at the bar. The good thing about the Tusken mask is that it allows him to drink. He orders a drink and waits. The scent of incense is strong and sickeningly sweet; it makes the large room full of alcoves and lounge booths feel like a claustrophobic hole.

Half an hour and two glasses of liquor later, he notices Cara has found herself a strategic spot a couple of booths away from their target's. She's pretending to watch a young Twi'lek perform an exotic dance – or actually watching, more likely – and sends Din an imperceptible nod when she meets his gaze.

It's time.

Din walks in Amhir's direction with a hand hovering over the spot where his blaster lies, hooked to his belt under the robes. The woman is too busy enjoying her companions' displays of _affection_ to notice him: one of them is running her tongue over her neck and the other has claimed her lips into a lascivious kiss. There are two empty bottles of whine on the table and three empty glasses.

“Freeze,” Din orders, pointing his blaster at Amhir.

She reacts so swiftly the two ladies at her sides fall off the sofa with strangled gasps. She's on her feet in less than a blink, her blaster pistol aimed at Din without a hint of hesitation despite all the alcohol she's downed. Remarkable.

Nobody around them seems to be paying attention to their little scuffle; even the two girls at Amhir's feet crawl away without much fuss.

“Sorry, love,” Amhir spits. “I'm not in the mood to play with you. Piss off or die.”

Din has to say he admired the cold blood and the snark. In a way, she reminds him a lot of Cara.

And, just as she skims his thoughts, Cara appears behind the Amhir, and her blaster presses eloquently into the back of the woman's head.

“Drop that. _Now,”_ she hisses. “We can bring you in warm or we can bring you in cold. Your choice.”

There is no choice, actually: if they don't catch her alive, she's worthless. But, whether she knows this or not, she doesn't seem too bothered. In fact, her head tilts slightly to one side and back, in Cara's direction. Without an apparent reason, her blaster lowers as a smirk starts forming across her lips.

"Carasynthia,” she purrs. She turns around, letting her pistol fall into the cushions at her feet. “What a pleasure to see you after such a long time."

Din's boldness falters: not only does this woman know Cara, but she can recognise her only by her voice. And Cara seems petrified, staring at their target with with eyes wide and full of shock.

"Fuck."

Cara lowers her blaster, too.

This is not good.

"You know her?" Din inquires with a tone that is a mixture of surprise and betrayal.

"I wish I didn't,” replies Cara while shoving her blaster back into her belt, her glaring eyes still weighing on the woman. “Please, don't ask."

Din senses unease in Cara's voice, but also a noticeable lack of worry. Whatever is happening, it doesn't alarm her but rather enrages her.

"Let me guess,” he sighs. “We can't bring her in."

Amhir is looking back and forth between the two of them as if she was trying to figure them out.

Cara snorts.

 _"I_ can't. You can do whatever you like. She's all yours."

Amhir snickers. "Are you lovebirds done or-"

"I'm out,” Cara cuts in with a sharp glare to the woman, then she turns to Din: “You two can do this on your own. Have fun. I'll meet you back on the ship," she conveys, then stalks away without giving him any chance to ask any more questions. The child's pram floats hastily after her.

So Din is left standing there with his blaster still pointed at Amhir and a disconcerted expression she fortunately can't see. Her black eyes are studying Din with a spark of amusement.

"Trouble in heaven?"

He frowns, still too shaken to articulate anything more elaborate than incoherent thoughts – about who this woman might be, and how she and Cara know each other. And he can tell by the way the woman is watching him so intently, almost evaluating him, that they're both wondering the same thing, even before they actually ask it in unison.

"Who are you?"

  
  


*

  
  


She says she's an old friend of Cara's. It doesn't sound accurate.

Din buys her a couple of drinks as they talk, a bit taken aback by how easily she relaxes and shares tales of her past with him. The person in front of Din hardly matches the profile Greef gave him: she doesn't feel like a reckless murderer; she's a cunning young woman, but not a heartless one. Din can see it in her look, hear it in her voice as she comments the tale of how he and Cara met and ended up teaming together.

Sheya sets down her empty glass with a disbelieving snort.

"Cara Dune settled down with a _guy?_ And _a kid?"_

"We're not-" Din tries to say, but tsks and shoots him a derisive sneer.

"Yeah, sure."

"We're _not."_

Sheya orders another drink.

"I saw how she looked at you before she stomped away, honey,” she says with a confidence that tells Din she knows Cara way more intimately than he initially estimated. “She used to look at me like that,” she adds, as if to confirm his train of thoughts, and winks at him. “Trust me, you _are."_

This piece of information throws Din's strategic approach off balance. This young woman is not just a ghost from Cara's past, she means or used to mean something to Cara – _a lot,_ it seems. He doesn't know why this makes him taste bile in his mouth.

"So you two have... history."

He studies her, trying to pick up some cues from her body language, but her shoulders stay relaxed, her gestures unaffected. There is, however, a slight change in her tone: when she speaks again, it's a touch softer, maybe a bit melancholic.

"She saved me from a pretty gruesome life sentence back in the day.” Sheya swallows. She has the voice of a little girl, but rough and low in her throat, hoarse, like a smoker's. “I was one of those rebels her team would hunt down on Endor. When she found me, I was badly injured, fighting a high fever. She had been sent out to execute me personally and could have easily done that, but when she had me at gunpoint, she made a different call."

She eyes Din cautiously, studying his reaction. Her eyes are much older than she is, burdened with the same cold shadows he spots in Cara's black irises, sometimes.

"That sounds like Cara,” he comments, perhaps a little too fondly. It's not hard for him to imagine a younger Cara refusing to take a rebel girl's life just because someone ordered her to. This is a part of her life she doesn't like to talk about, and Din never pressured her to give him more than she was willing to share. Whatever small detail he can get from Sheya, he will cherish.

"Long story short, she let me go,” she continues after downing her third drink. She has her arms crossed over the counter, her look lost in a memory far, far away. “I convinced her to run away with me. Shit happened."

"Shit?"

"Feelings,” Sheya explains with a faint grimace. “That sort of annoying inconvenience no one wants in a situation like that. Neither of us liked the sense of vulnerability that comes with caring about someone else. It was a complication for both of us. It broke us apart, eventually."

"I see."

There is something like a shard pressing into Din's heart. He thinks he knows what she means: he's always had this feeling with Cara that something was sort of stuck between them, confined in a limbo where what they built together is definitely more than a friendship but for some reason cannot be otherwise named. Now he knows why. What he doesn't know is how discovering this woman and Cara used to be in a relationship makes him feel. There is, of course, no point in being jealous for something that belongs to the past, and yet he can sense a lingering connection between them, something that neither the years nor the distance, apparently, could sever.

Sheya pushes her empty glass away and sits back in her stool, her joint hands hanging between her spread legs.

"So what do we do, now?” she asks colourlessly. “If we're gonna fight to the death, I should warn you I've died quite a few times already."

Din can picture her brow quirking up at him under her mask. He can feel it in her voice, in how she's sitting. She's charming, in her own way – a quality he's sure has been of great use to her in her criminal career.

"I'm not going to fight you, Sheya," he informs her, and, again, it's like he can feel her brows arch.

"It's Selva, actually,” she mutters in absolute nonchalance. “Selva Deluna.” A light smirk pulls at her lips. “Nice to meet you, Cara's boyfriend."

There are worse things she could call him, Din reasons.

"I'm not-” he begins, but immediately realises it would be pointless to deny. “Whatever,” he sighs. He grabs his glass and empties it in a gulp, then slams it down the counter and turns to his former target. “You need a ride off the planet, Selva?"

She tips her head to one side, crossing her arms over her chest. "Is this a trick to lure me into your ship and turn me into a pretty carbonised graphite sheet?”

Din can't help a small smirk. She's got an attitude, and he likes this.

"No tricks," he assures.

Selva stares at him for a couple of seconds, likely calculating the odds of being betrayed by a bounty hunter, but the lack of tension in her pose suggests that, for reasons obscure to him, she trusts him.

"Well, since you ruined my trip,” she says, enticingly rubbing her boot over his armoured shin. “It's only fair you get me out of here for free.”

Then, just like that, she jumps off her stool and gives a sharp nod toward the exit.

“Lead the way, Mandalorian."

  
  


*

  
  


Cara doesn't know what happened after she left Din with _her,_ but, whatever it is, shit went wrong in there. _Very_ wrong.

She sees Din walking back to the ship along the massive landing platform, and he's not alone: _she_ is there, too, sauntering next to him with that air of theatrical boldness that has always been her trademark.

Cara's stomach twists.

_Fuck._

She stands up from the ramp where she's sitting, her arms wrapping a little more tightly around the child. Even from a distance, even despite that ridiculous mask of hers, she can feel Selva looking straight at her with a smug chuckle painted all over her mouth, the only part of her face Cara can see, along with her eyes. Those dark, defiant eyes she hoped she would never have to face again.

She has no reason to feel so threatened by Selva's sudden reappearance: they parted ways on a reciprocal agreement, walked away from each other, never turning back. Cara has a new life, now. She can't let the past come back to haunt her.

"Why isn't she cuffed?" she spits out as soon as Din is within hearing range. She presses the child to her chest, as though an instinct inside her was telling her not to let her guard down, even if Din doesn't seem remotely worried.

What did Selva tell him?

"She's not a prisoner,” he says, glancing briefly back at where Selva is standing, right behind him.

Cara is glad she can't see all of her. Her pulse is climbing, her head getting dizzy. She doesn't want any of this – Selva, the memories she brings...

Din is looking at her like he's asking if she's okay, and she's not. She _not._

"I should have known leaving you alone with her wasn't a good idea,” she hisses, and it's Selva, not Din, she's glaring at. “She's a top-notch manipulator, buddy: whatever she told you, don't believe it."

"She told me you saved her life."

"I _spared_ her life. And I'm still not sure it was wise decision."

Cara's glare intensifies as Selva comes forward with an insufferable grin.

"Oh, come on,” she purrs. “We had fun, as long as it lasted."

Cara sees red. This is not a conversation they were supposed to have, not now nor _ever._

"It lasted _two years,”_ she retorts. “Two years of my damn life I gave to you, only for you to throw it all away as soon as shit started getting serious.”

She stops, trying to gulp down the knot gripping her throat.

It shouldn't sting in her eyes. It shouldn't ache in her chest.

“For all I care,” she growls. “Mando is free to turn you in for as many credits as whoever's looking for you is willing to pay."

There is a flicker of something in Selva's eyes, but it's gone with a blink, too quickly for Cara to be able to read into it. She wonders if Selva would still be so confident without her mask, if she would still have the nerve to smirk and talk to Cara like nothing happened.

"It's General Marston, just so you know,” Selva conveys, unprompted. “Your client. And guess what? He wants me because he thinks I'm the one who turned his precious Commander Dune against him."

_Marston._

The name sends a shudder down Cara's back. She used to answer to him in her days as a shock trooper. He was a soulless man with too many delusions of grandeur and not enough military talent to deserve his rank. His whole career had been built on top of other people's efforts and sacrifice, and he had been particularly fond of Cara and her strike team. Because of this man, Cara lost a lot of companions along the way. It was because of him and his lust for blood and power that she became a deserter.

He was reportedly killed in a republican attack shortly after Cara left. He was supposed to be dead and gone for good.

"That son of a bantha is still alive?” Cara breathes, barely audibly. Her knees feel suddenly weak. “I thought-"

"Not all people die and stay dead, in this business,” Selva points out. “I'm sure he'd love to get his hands on you, too."

Cara doesn't care about herself. She cares about the child in her arms and she cares about Din, who's observing her badly concealed nervousness with a concern Cara can still feel upon herself despite the layers of his disguise and the armour underneath.

"Is this a threat?" she inquires warningly, and Selva shakes her head with unusual mildness.

"A warning. He's operating through an underling because he's got a very nice bounty on his own head.” Her jaw contracts when she adds: “He's already collected most of the survivors of my old squad. Some of yours, too."

The ground beneath Cara's feet starts shaking. She had a lot of team mates during her time on Endor, most of which died there; the few who survived were good people, some merely kids.

"Who?" she dares ask. It comes out as a whisper, shaky and barely audible.

The sorrow in Selva's look is deep and genuine.

"Darrel,” she says feebly. “Shibby. Anessa. She had two kids. They killed them, too."

“That sick bastard.”

Cara tries to control the tremor in her hands, the rage flaring through her veins like wild fire. She should have killed Marston with her won hands.

She jumps when she feels a touch on the small of her back. Din immediately retracts his hand, taking a careful step back.

“Do you want some privacy?”

Cara wants to say she's sorry for overreacting, that, for a split second, his touch was actually a comfort to her, but words are failing her.

“Yes,” she hears Selva answer before she has a chance to do it herself.

“No!” she snarls. The last thing she wants is to be alone with _her._ She turns to Din: “Whatever she has to share, she can share it with you, too.”

Din scrutinises her for a moment, then gives her a slow nod.

“I see.” Selva takes a step forward to stand between them. “Perfect couple with no secrets. But he didn't know about me.”

“He would have known, if we _were_ a couple,” retorts Cara. “Now why don't you do everyone a favour and get lost before I change my mind about letting you walk?”

She's surprised by her own words. When was it that she decided Selva could walk away from this? They need the money she's worth. Cara doesn't give a damn about what happens to her after they deliver her.

She doesn't.

She _doesn't._

But Selva doesn't appear remotely perturbed. To the contrary, she casts Din a quick smile before turning it to Cara.

“Your _friend,_ here, offered me a ride.”

 _A ride._ This is ludicrous. Cara is not going to share _anything_ with Selva Deluna, unless it's a punch in the face.

“Well done, man,” she grunts at Din. “Just what we needed: a kriffing ticking bomb on board.”

“The bounty on Marston's head is ten times the one on hers,” he offers gingerly, and Cara detects a hint of apology in his voice, even through the modulator. This little shit knows all too well how to buy her.

“We could join forces and split the reward.”

“No,” Cara says at once, just as Selva says:

“I'm in.”

“I'm not working with her!”

The kid starts fussing in Cara's arms. She realises she's been getting tenser and tenser. She soften her embrace around him and gently rocks him, silently begging for forgiveness. Selva's presence is dimming her rationality and self-control.

“We need that money,” Din insists. “She's got useful intel and skills. We can do this.”

He's right, of course, but Cara just can't accept what he's suggesting.

“Count me out.”

“It's going to take all three of us, and you know it.”

The child gurgles, looking up at Cara with those huge round eyes, head leaning to one side as if asking her what is wrong.

The thing is, _everything_ is wrong. She had built a balance here, on this ship, with this man and this kid, and it took her a lot of time and effort to coax herself into something as domestic as the life they have. Hunting apart, this is as close to an ordinary life she's had since she was a little girl and for nothing in the galaxy she's going to let the shadows from her past ruin this. But she owes this to Din and the baby, owes them her full cooperation, and it's only for them that she's going to do this.

“Fine,” she sighs, feeling stupidly helpless. There is no way this is going to end well. “But don't say I didn't warn you when this idiot plan turns against us.”

  
  


*

  
  


Selva just got into the fresher to get a shower when Din walks up to Cara. She's sitting at the table with a bottle of beer and a sour expression that nearly has Din back down.

“I should have talked to you before offering her this collaboration.”

Cara's knuckles whiten as her fingers clench around the bottle. There is so much she isn't telling him about Selva and what she had with her. A part of him wants to know, but another part dreads what he might find out. In a way, he feels like he just sabotaged himself by bringing Selva into the picture without asking Cara. It's clear that both of them still feel something for each other, though Din can't tell for sure if this is good or bad. It's probably both. But he's never seen Cara so edgy before and he worries that this shift in their life will alter their personal dynamics, as well. Whatever the nature of the bond he shares with Cara, he hopes it hasn't been irremediably compromised by his rushed decision.

“Yeah, you should have,” Cara mutters, fixing the bottle with a blank stare. “Don’t trouble yourself, though: I can deal with this. You’re right, we need that money.”

The water in the fresher is still running. Din takes a seat, getting a warning eyeful from Cara.

“It must have been serious between you and her.”

The comment hangs between them, filling the room with an uneasy silence.

Cara shrugs.

“We actually got along pretty well until it started getting serious. Neither of us had the guts to face the pressure of something so emotionally demanding.”

So her version and Selva's coincide: their story ended because of fear. No wonder she's so cautious with Din, even after months they've spent together. And it's not like he _expects_ anything from her, but recently he's started to wonder if there might be something more they want from each other. What he didn't know was what is refraining her every time they're on the verge of taking a step forward; now he knows.

“Do you think you could, now?”

In the dim light, Cara's irises shine like starry skies.

“I feel like there's another question beneath this question.”

Din can't fight a small smile which he's glad she can't see. He's locked in a shiny beskar box, but this has never stopped Cara from seeing him through it, as though it wasn't there at all.

“Maybe.”

Cara takes her bottle and sprawls back in her chair. Din can see a reflection of Selva's slumped posture back at the brothel. He can't help wondering how much they've picked up from each other in their time together, how much of Cara's body language actually comes from Selva and vice versa. It's a telltale of how powerful their relationship used to be – or still is.

“So, what is it?” Cara rises a brow at him as she takes a long sip from her beer. “You want to know if now I have the guts to get back with her?” She sets the bottle down, licks her lips. “Or if I have the guts to stay with you?”

She _knows._ She knows, too. She knows the ties between her and Din are more than just a friendship, that they've been walking on this thin thread for a while, now, never daring a move more than strictly necessary, always too cautious, always too restrained. Maybe Selva's intrusive presence is the push the needed. Maybe it's what will split them apart.

“Both,” he admits, omitting, like a coward, that he hopes it's the latter.

Cara shakes her head like she's trying to clear her mind.

“Selva means a lot to me,” she says, intercepting Din's reaction before he can utter a sound. “Yes, present tense.”

The blow hits him hard and it's only because of a lifetime of training that he manages to take it so unflinchingly. Beneath the impassive surface, a wound starts bleeding in his soul. This is when Cara surprises him, breaking into a smile so warm it nearly hurts.

“But so do you.”

It's a statement – an important one. And it's not really a surprise, but to actually _hear_ that he means a lot to Cara just gave him a boost of hope he didn't know he needed.

“You mean a lot to me, too,” he whispers, just in case, and Cara's smile widens, taking the shape of an impish smirk.

“That much I already knew.”

The kid pulls at Din's legs from the floor. He picks him up and settles him upon his lap. The kid is munching on a bone he found who knows where, his mouth greasy and dripping drool all over his robe. Din fishes a napkin out of his trousers and wipes it all over the child's face under Cara's adoring gaze. She observes them for a little while, her expression softer and softer, then bites her lips and sighs:

“Look, let's just do this job and move on. Selva will be gone in a matter of weeks and we won't even remember we crossed paths with her.”


	2. The Tales of the Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are shit. They happen, and they hurt, and they're painfully confusing.

Selva is like a feral desert cat.

It takes less than three minutes for Din to figure out the wounded animal beneath the predator disguise: silent and guarded, easily triggered by the wrong movement, a slightly higher tone. She has this raw expression in her eyes, a suspiciousness that tenses her muscles and clenches her jaw if anyone gets too close without being invited.

When she gets out of the fresher without her mask, barely clothed, Din observes her from a distance, a little bewildered by her face. It' nothing like he expected: Selva Deluna looks too young for her age, and at the same time too old.

She's not strikingly beautiful like Cara, but something about her catches the eye. It might be her powerful bearing, it might be the patina of breath-taking ice in her dark eyes. Everything in her screams _dangerous._ To some people, it might also be the burn scar that runs down the left side of her face; to Din, it's charming, though all the rest of Selva is anything but that.

Selva is rough wherever Cara is soft, and where Cara is rough, she is _rougher._

She smirks at Din when she feels his gaze upon herself.

“Like what you see, Mando?” she teases. The towel she has wrapped around herself is small and can't do much to cover the slender muscles rippling under the honey of her skin.

Beside him, Cara is trying way too hard to ignore the whole situation.

Selva isn't exactly Din's type, but she's unconventionally attractive, and this makes her interesting. She also seems to be perfectly aware of this.

“I do,” he replies matter-of-factly.

He hears a muffled snort coming from Cara. She has the kid on her knees. She's showing him how to braid using scraps of colourful wires she found somewhere in the cargo bay. The kid likes it, but he must sense something shift in her aura because he starts looking up at her with a confused face.

“I wonder what you'd think of what you _can't_ see,” says Selva, her eyes briefly wandering toward Cara, who is still pointedly ignoring her.

Din ignores the flirtation, focuses on what he _can_ see, instead: the stiffness in her body betrays her boldness, the way her eyes refuse to meet his says she's not comfortable as she wants him to believe.

So he pretends to believe.

“I'm sure the rest is as lovely as what is on display.”

He can see his composure annoys Selva as much as it amuses Cara, though the latter is trying very diligently not to let it show.

Din tries to see it for what it is – a job – but he can't ignore the vibes he senses beneath the stoic surface of both women, and something tells him sparks are going to fly, one way or another.

Perhaps he underestimated whatever lies in Cara's and Selva's past.

  
  


*

  
  


So Cara and the Mandalorian have a baby. A green, fluffy baby with huge ears and huge eyes and the cutest wrinkly face Selva has ever seen.

She instantly develops a soft spot for the little one, because he seems to like her instinctively, even before she actually gets to do anything to gain his affection.

His father is a whole different story: he's guarded around Selva, like a wild animal circling around a suspicious stranger invading his territory, and this is exactly how Selva feels on board of the Razor Crest: like an invader, or a hardly tolerated guest.

This is not a ship, this is a _home:_ there are two bunks upstairs, sharing the same little space, an enclosure so small it can only be described as intimate. But still, _two_ bunks. Whatever the Mando and Cara have going on, they don't sleep together, at least, apparently, not in the literal sense of the term.

Selva is allowed to set her sleeping bag on the floor between them in the bedroom. They even give her a mat to sleep on, which is a luxury compared to what she's used to. She's not sure this move is because they trust her or because they _don't,_ but it doesn't really matter. She's not here to stir chaos between the lovebirds, as much as she's tempted; all she wants is their help: killing Marston has been on top of her bucket list for years and if she can also make some money out of it she's not going to complain. With her share of the bounty she will be able to finally disappear for good. The Outer Rim is always a good option for people like her.

Before they take off from Galactic City, Mando heads back to the city to get some supplies. The atmosphere changes in his absence: the air seems more breathable, the electricity in it less sparkling. His absence makes breathing easier but it doesn't take away the unspoken conflict.

This is Selva's thought when she finds Cara in the cargo bay, punching the battered bag hanging from the ceiling like she wants to beat its thick leather to a pulp. It doesn't take a genius to guess what triggered such violence.

Selva crosses her arms and leans against the entrance frame, unnoticed. She takes her time to observe Cara, to spot all the tiniest changes in her: the tattoo under her eye, the longer hair, the softer shape her body has taken. Selva can't refrain herself from imagining how Cara feels, now, with all those beautiful curves padding the hardness of her muscles. Wonderful, she's sure. It must be such a pleasure to touch those thighs, the roundness of those hips...

The arousal at the pit of Selva's stomach suddenly becomes a dull ache in her chest. She averts her attention from the hypnotising movements of Cara's hips as she hits the bag with increasing fierceness and tries to focus on her face, which is darkened by an angry frown.

“It was a mutual break-up,” Selva shouts to reach Cara through her grunts and the heavy thuds of her hooks landing on the bag. “Why are you still mad?”

Cara's kick it so powerful it dislodges the bag's bottom chain from the floor. She grabs it to hold it still and sends a deep glare Selva's way.

“You're gonna fuck this up the same way you fucked us up.”

Selva graciously accepts the jab. They were both a mess, back then, physically and emotionally, their outer scars matching the ones they had inside. Neither of them was particularly familiar with romantic relationships, but Selva was always the one to shy away first when things would get too personal. They built their relationship from loneliness and despair, there was no way it could have ended any differently than it did. It still doesn't stop her from burning with jealousy at the implied admission that there _is_ something between Cara and the beskar-clad hunter that Selva _could_ ruin.

“By _this_ you mean you and the Mandalorian?”

There must be a flaw in her nonchalance, because Cara picks up her subtle insinuation at once. Or maybe she has a guilty conscience.

“We're _professional_ partners,” Cara argues coldly. “And we make a great team.” She abandons the bag and stomps toward Selva, sweaty and dishevelled, and Selva knows she has no idea how hot she looks like this.

She has to bite her tongue to keep herself from kissing her when Cara hisses onto her face: “I don't know what you're planning, but you better not double-cross us, because this time I'm seriously going to kill you, Sel.”

It hurts.

Not the fact that Cara thinks Selva might be plotting something against her and her guy, but that name... that name on her lips again after such a long time.

_Sel._

No one has called Selva by her real name in years, let alone _Sel._ That was always Cara's prerogative, and no one else's, ever.

“I missed you calling me that,” she breathes before she even realises, but Cara doesn't notice the longing in her tone.

“Don't,” she snaps. “Don't look at me like that. I'm not gonna fall for your antics.”

If only she knew how defenceless Selva feels in front of her. Of all the people she encountered in her endless roaming, Cara is still the only one who left a mark inside her, a mark that won't go away, no matter how hard and desperately she tried to scratch it off.

In spite of Cara's harshness, Selva smiles.

“This is the only way I can look at you,” she says, tucking a damp lock of hair behind her ear. “You're even more beautiful than I remembered.”

“And you're still a manipulative bitch,” Cara replies, but something taints her anger, now. Something gentle and warm that wasn't there before.

Selva tries not to read too much into it. She shoves the pale flicker of hope crawling out of the dark recesses of her soul back to where it belongs and puts her defiant chuckle back on.

“Aw, such a flatterer. Be careful, baby: my ego is easily excitable.”

“As if I could forget that,” snorts Cara. She grabs a towel from a crate and slings it across her neck. “Can you fuck off, now? I was kinda in the middle of something.”

“Would you like a sparring partner?”

“I already have a sparring partner.”

 _Yes,_ Selva muses bitterly, _the one whose face you will never be allowed to see._

How deep must Cara's attachment to this man be, if she's willing to stand by him so unwaveringly?

Selva shrugs. “He's not here, now, is he?”

 _Look me in the eye and tell me you won't betray him,_ she thinks, full of spite for a man who has done nothing to her. The Mandalorian's only fault is that he likes Cara a little too much, and this wouldn't be so relevant if Cara didn't like him back.

Selva arches her brows suggestively, eliciting an annoyed eye roll from Cara, who hastily dabs the towel all over herself before tossing it back on the crate.

“I guess punching your actual face would be more satisfying than punching the bag,” she concedes. There is the ghost of a smirk on the surface of her lips. No one else would notice, but Selva does. Maybe Mando would, too.

She accepts what Cara will give: she gets rid of her worn jacket, pulls off her shirt and drops it to the floor. She stands there in her tank top, only a pair of pants away from being as unclothed as Cara. This once would have quickly escalated into a heated make out session against the wall.

Selva deliberately brushes herself against Cara's side as she walks past her to the centre of the bay.

“Are we still using sparring as a sex metaphor?” she asks, getting into position.

Cara imitates her.

“You wish.” The smirk on her lips is more apparent, now.

Selva smirks back, cracking her neck from side to side, ready for the fun.

“Oh, I do.”

  
  


*

  
  


Like all felines, Selva moves confidently in the darkness. It's her element, it seems: Din doesn't notice her sneaking into the room, her steps lighter than the air itself. He blames it on the late hour and on the beer he's been lazily sipping if his senses are dimmed and she catches him by surprise.

“You always drink alone in the dark?”

Her voice is low and raspy. It crawls upon Din's skin, rising goosebumps all over his bare forearms.

“I leave the lights off in case Cara or the kid walk in,” he says. These are his loneliest hours, alone with himself and his thoughts, his face bare only for the silence to witness.

“Must be hard,” he hears Selva muse. “To have to keep yourself hidden from your family.”

“It is,” he replies. He's not sure what she's doing here. “Couldn't sleep?”

“I don't sleep much. PTSD and shit like that.”

“I see.”

Selva hesitates. He hears a faint sniff, then she moves until she is close enough for Din to feel her body heat upon himself.

“Mind if I sit?”

Din was sort of hoping she would ask. He's curious about her – not the criminal, but the girl she was before, the one Cara can still see somewhere in there.

“Not at all.”

Selva slumps down beside him. Her long sigh merges with the clinking of her unbuckled boots. She feels hotter than an average human being, like she's burning from a fever.

Without any ceremony, she graciously snatches Din's bottle from the table and gulps down several sips, then slams the bottle down with a satisfied moan.

“So, what's up with the green little thing?” she asks. “Neither you nor Cara strike me as people with a parental vocation.”

 _Good instincts,_ Din notes. He's locked head to toe inside an armour and still Selva can pick up enough of him to figure out his personality with surprising accuracy. He's not sure he likes this.

“He was a job turned personal,” admits, the ghost of his old guilt surfacing for one moment from where he buried it in his memory. He will never get ride of the shame for selling off the kid.

Selva snickers.

“That's what got me and Cara into trouble in the first place.”

There is fondness in her voice, shards of regret mixed with melancholy. Din can almost picture them, young and scared and angry, running from wars they never asked to fight. How natural it must have been for them to find shelter and comfort in each other. How easy it must have been, from such a fragile balance, to wreak it all to pieces.

“What went wrong?”

He can hear Selva hold her breath. He wishes she could see his face, see if she's reacting how he's imagining – an upset wrinkle between her brows, her eyes darting away from him, instinctively looking for the closest way out.

“When we were together,” begins Selva with a sharp sniff. “It was like we were both wearing an armour. Both locked inside our grief and too scared to crawl out. Until she wasn't. And when she started opening up to me, I pushed her away. And that was it.”

“After what you went through together?”

 _“Because_ of what we went through together. I dragged her into a lot of shit, and she had her own emotional baggage to deal with. She needed me and I couldn't be there for her. She deserves better than a half-assed lover. Cara- Cara deserves the whole fucking universe.”

He understands how she feels. When she mentioned the metaphorical armours keeping her and Cara apart, he couldn't help finding a painful parallel with his own predicament, the actual armour that acts as a barrier between himself and Cara. And it's all true, what she said about Cara deserving the whole universe – something he certainly can't give her, not when he can't even give her all of himself.

“You still have feelings for her.”

It's an assessment, not a question. Selva knows. She growls out a low laugh, and Din pictures her shaking her head. He hears her shift: her boots come up to rest on the bench, her knees crack as she bends them, surrounding them with her arms.

“One can't just walk away from Cara Dune,” she whispers. “You meet her and that's it: you will never be able to shake her off.” Her shoulder bumps into Din's right before her tone acquires a slightly warmer hue: “You know her: can you blame me? Would you stop loving her just because things between you two didn't work out?”

Her eyes are upon him. Din can perceive the weight of them, their intensity. It makes the hairs on the nape of his neck rise with a shiver, and he feels suddenly naked.

“And don't give me that _'We're not lovers'_ banthashit,” Selva adds before he can even think of arguing that. “Call it romance, call it unconventional friendship, call it fuck buddies-”

In all honesty, there is just one point Din feels like he should clarify: “We're not sleeping together.”

There is a brief pause, then Selva breaks into a hearty laugh that reverberates all through Din's body. Its sounds exactly like she looks: too young and too old at the same time.

“Really? You live together in such a small space, _packed_ with sexual tension, and you've never even-”

“No.”

Selva pats Din's thigh, still laughing. He would normally flinch at this unprompted invasion of his personal space, but he's too engaged in reading her through the darkness to pay any attention to that.

“Wow. You're virtuous,” she comments. “I had my face between her legs within a couple of days from meeting her.”

Din feels an involuntary twitch in his pants. _This_ isn't something he needed – the picture of Selva burying her face between Cara's spread legs, and everything coming with it. It's a thought he won't easily brush off.

“You really have no filters, do you?”

It was meant as a complaint, yet somehow it came out softer than he intended.

Selva slouches back against the wall. The faint sound she utters might be just a breath, or it might be a sigh.

“Life's too short to measure words,” she says. She nudges Din with a knee. “We're grown ass adults, we might as well come clear with each other, especially if we want this job to be successful.”

The job. Right. Din's curiosity toward her made him momentarily forget the reason she's truly here.

He grabs the beer and drains what's left at its bottom.

“Agreed,” he says as he swallows. “How did you get that scar on your face?”

“This?” Selva's hand brushes Din's leg as it rises to touch that particular spot along her cheek. “I was sixteen. Our village was burned down because the Imps needed it as a strategic base.” Her voice trails off, getting deeper, growing distant. “I managed to get my two little brothers out of the house before it collapsed under the fire, but my mother and my sister didn't make it. My father died shortly after from the burns.”

The clench in her jaw is palpable through her speech. Din detects specks of feelings whose reflection he finds within his own soul: fear, hatred, rancour. Broken hope.

“I'm sorry.”

Such a stupid thing to say to someone who lost everything. Selva, however, is barely listening to him; she is lost in her memories, in a past that will never come back and yet haunt her forever.

“I didn't let myself get involved with anyone, after that. Didn't trust people. Then I met Cara, and she sent all my determination down the drain.” A light shift in her voice reveals a smile the darkness is hiding. “You either love her or hate her, and I quickly realised that what I felt for her was a weird balance of both. Sometimes, when I lay in bed with her,” she mutters, sounding suddenly stiff. “I felt like I wanted to kill her in her sleep, only to smother that horrible sense of helplessness being with her gave me.”

It's almost funny how much Din feels connected to this woman, even though he's known her just for a couple of days. Is it possible to bond over loving the same person? Is it actually what is happening here? What Selva is saying... it's one of the most relatable things Din has ever heard. This is him, too: someone who adores Cara Dune and at the same time feels intimately threatened by how she makes him feel. He and Selva have much more in common than he thought.

“I didn't _want_ to fall in love with her,” Selva is saying, almost angry. “ _I tried not to_ – but she ensnared me anyway.”

“I know what you mean,” Din breathes, albeit this time he can't really say he identifies with her: he didn't even know he was getting so attached to Cara, so fond of her, until it was too late and nothing could be done. Not that he would change it, if he could. Even if Cara will never return his feelings, he wouldn't trade her presence in his life for anything in the world.

“I'm sure you do,” says Selva pensively. She takes the bottle but when she rises it to her lips and realises it's empty she snorts and sets it back down. There is more, somewhere under the table, but Din doesn't want to break the moment.

“The first time I met her,” he tells Selva. “She came at me so hard I thought she was going to kill me.” He shrugs, amused by his own sentimentality. “I trusted her instantly, I don't know why. I never trust anyone.”

“It's her soul shining through. You can see it in her eyes, how kind and brave she truly is. She just can't hide it.” Selva jabs her elbow into his ribs. “It doesn't help that she's so damn beautiful, does it?”

So it's not just Din being so weak for Cara's looks. There's more to her, and it's that _more_ that makes her so irresistible, but there's no point in denying that Cara Dune is a very exquisite specimen of human female.

“It really doesn't.”

And then Selva, giggling like a little girl, says something that makes him smile:

“Are we seriously bonding over our feelings for the same woman?”

It _is_ funny, after all. This is not how romantic rivalry normally works.

“I can think of worse things than Cara Dune to bond over,” he stresses while Selva reaches out under the table and successfully retrieves a couple more beers from the box.

“Or _bend_ over,” she smirks, handing one to Din, which he ruefully accepts. This is another picture that's going to torture him for a long, long while.

“ _Filters,_ Deluna. Please.”

“I'll try,” she promises as they rip the lids off. “Since you asked so nicely.”

“Thank you.”

Selva clinks her bottle against his – or attempts to. It's not so easy in the dark, it takes a few attempts.

“To unwilling lovers?” she chuckles when they finally get it right.

Once again, Din wishes he could see her expression right now, to see if it matches the playful flirtatiousness in her tone. He also wishes they were drinking to something less awkwardly accurate, but such is life.

“To unwilling lovers.”

  
  


*

  
  


“Marston is no fool. I've tracked him down a few times, but he's always on the move and has virtually endless resources: money, powerful friends, secrets he knows how to exploit... He has one weakness, though: gambling. The only way to get near him is by sneaking up on him in a casino.”

Selva looks up from the notes she spread all over the table to make sure Cara and Mando are following her in between bites of breakfast. They're _not._

Cara has the kid on her lap and is trying to keep him from squirming too much while Mando feeds him morsels of raw meat. They laugh as the child tries to steal the whole plate from under Mando's nose, and something stirs within Selva. It's the cruel howl of a longing she thought she had safely locked away, buried under a lifetime of mistakes and ill-advised decisions.

“Canto Bight is one of his favourite places in the whole galaxy,” she begins again, raising her voice to get their attention. They finally turn to her, looking only mildly interested. Selva reckons this is the best she can get, so she goes on:

“I got pretty close to him a couple of times by dressing as a prostitute. I would have been able to kill him, if only I had managed to get him alone. But I lack what he likes in a woman, so I was thinking-”

Her gaze floats meaningfully in Cara's direction, whose eyes widen in horror.

“Don't say that,” she warns, but Selva simply ignores her.

“- that Cara should go in as a bait.”

 _The most delicious bait,_ Selva purrs to herself. It will take some convincing to get Cara into a tight, sexy dress, but once it's done, no one will be able to look at her and remember their own name.

“He'll recognise me,” Cara objects, her cheeks a little pink.

Selva shrugs.

“If we disguise you properly, he'll only realise it's you when it's too late. Come on, Dune: we need your curves to get through to that son of a bantha.”

The observation makes Mando stiffen in his seat. So that's what it takes to unsettle his admirable aplomb: a brief mention of Cara's sweet body and there goes his composure. Duly noted.

“I'm not risking Cara's life by sending her in on her own,” he interjects, turning just slightly to check Cara's reaction because _of course_ he knows she won't like his insinuation that she can't fend for herself.

“We're going in with her,” Selva cuts in before Cara has a chance to utter her indignation. “Masks are not uncommon in casinos: you can be our gentleman _friend._ It will be less suspicious if we have a man escorting us.”

“He won't be able to wear his armour,” Cara protests, as though this is personally offensive to her, but Mando touches her hand, a soft, casual gesture that makes the blood in Selva's veins simmer.

“She's right,” he says calmly. “This plan can only work if we blend in.”

Selva nods. She takes one of the energy bars piled on the plate in the middle of the table and bites off a big chunk.

“Relax, Cara,” she grins, chewing. “It's gonna take us weeks to pin down the details. You've got plenty of time to get used to idea of rubbing yourself all over your not-boyfriend in a skimpy dress.” She sends Mando a knowing glance. “Or maybe he's the one who needs time to get used to the idea.”

The cup in Mando's hand slips and topples to the table, spreading caf among the plates and Selva's notes. Despite the damage, Selva can't hold back a subtle smirk.

_Gotcha, Mando._

With a happy chirp, the child throws himself into the pool of caf, splashing his hands into it like it's the most fun thing he's ever done.

“Really, kid? _Really?”_ Cara groans, trying to shield herself from the caf spluttering everywhere. She stands up, holding the giggling child in front of herself. “Alright,” she sighs fondly. “Let's get you cleaned up, you little shit.”

As soon as she's gone, Selva starts collecting her notes. She lets the caf drip off, then lines them up in the dry part of the table, dabbing them up with a towel under Mando's stare.

“What?”

He leans back in his seat.

“What game are you playing, here?”

There is no judgement in his tone, no reproach. Selva guesses she owes him an honest response.

“I just like teasing you guys. You really need to blow off some steam, you know? All this repressed thirst is not healthy.”

“This is none of your business,” he replies with an enviable composure. Is this man _actually_ made of Beskar?

Selva pushes her hair back with one hand, looking at him from under her lashes.

“A woman like her deserves to be worshipped,” she says – _warns,_ perhaps. She puts her hands on the table and leans toward him until her sneer is one inch from his helmet. “If you don't make your move,” she whispers hoarsely. “I will.”

  
  


*

  
  


“Selva is cheating,” Cara complains, throwing her cards on the table after losing her third game in a row. Sitting on her lap, the kid follows the movement is complete awe. He likes these shiny things.

Across from her, Selva gives her a disbelieving snort.

“Duh? Of course I'm cheating!” It's pitch black in the room, but Cara is sure she's sporting that insufferable smirk of hers. “The question is: why aren't _you two_ cheating? Everyone cheats in casinos.”

Cara snorts, too. Why would anyone cheat in a simple game between friends? She looks Din's way and sees him tip his head sideways with a light shrug, as if to say _'She has a point',_ and Cara would really love to punch him right now.

“Where did you get these glowing cards, anyway?” she asks Selva, who's started mixing the deck again.

“Saw them on a stall at the market the other day in Kor Vella. Couldn't resist.” The glow of the cards casts a bit of light upon her face, revealing the little chuckle on her lips. “Thought our Mando might enjoy some freedom, at least in his leisure time.”

“I do,” Din confirms. “Thank you.”

Cara is still trying to decide if she's comfortable with the situation. Sharing a small space with her ex-girlfriend and her not-boyfriend is giving her a chronic headache, both because Selva is a shameless handful to deal with and because it's impossible to tell what Din actually thinks of this whole thing. He hasn't shown any sign of jealousy or discomfort; in fact, he's so infuriatingly at ease around Selva that Cara has almost started to think he genuinely _likes_ her. Which is ridiculous. And Cara is _not_ jealous, of either of them; she's just puzzled because nothing is going the way she thought it would go: the atmosphere is warm and relaxed among them, no tension, no suspicion. It took Cara several days to realise why Din and Selva are so trusting with each other: _Cara_ trusts them. They're using her as a compass, gravitating around each other like strangers who somehow already know a lot about one another, just because they know the same person and value her opinion. Cara can't decide if she should be furious or flattered.

The kid climbs up to the table, pushing his clawed little feet into Cara's abs for leverage; he waddles his way to Selva, following the allure of the glowing cards in her hands.

“Hey, little guy.” Selva welcomes him with a soft laugh as he jumps into her arms without any warning. Unexpectedly, Selva catches him and makes him squeal in delight by tickling his belly. Cara remembers, now: Selva used to be someone's sister, someone's caretaker. She knows children much better than Cara and Din do.

“Wanna help Auntie Sel crush your parents at Pazaak?” Selva asks him in a baby voice Cara can hardly reconcile with her character. “Alright, come here.”

Cara watches speechlessly as Selva takes the kid upon her lap and fans out a few cards into his eager hands. “Can you hold these for me? Like that, yes.”

Something in Cara's stomach clenches painfully. This is a glimpse on another lifetime, something she and Selva could have had together, if they had been able to confront their issues instead of turning their backs to each other.

“You're good with kids,” she hears Din comment with sincere admiration. Cara never got such a heartfelt observation from him, and she shouldn't even feel so bitter for it: she _isn't_ good with people in general, let alone kids.

Selva lets out a modest laugh, her face barely outlined by the glow of the cards; she glances down at the child's enraptured expression while he admires the greenish glow of the cards she gave him, and all of a sudden she's the soft, desperate girl that stole Cara's heart on Endor.

“Years and years spent looking after my little brothers,” Selva explains tenderly. “He's adorable. I can see why you decided to risk everything to protect him.”

Everything hurts. Cara tries to see Selva from Din's eyes and a ferocious jealousy bites into her heart: the thoughtful idea of the glowing cards, the natural attitude with children... Selva is so much better as a partner than Cara could ever be. Which is funny, because Selva was never like this, with Cara: their relationship was raw, emotionally clumsy, full of uncertainties and insecurity. As a couple, they were never as spontaneous as _this._

Cara can't possibly take one more minute of this stupid familiar vibes she's getting.

“It's getting late,” she says, a bit too harshly, picking up the child from Selva's lap even though she knows he's perfectly content where he is. She pries the cards from his hands and tosses them on the table. “I'm taking him to bed,” she announces, balancing him on her hip as she unceremoniously leaves the table.

“He's not tired.” Selva tries turns to the kid, who's hands are stubbornly reaching out for her. “Look at him: he's so fascinated by these cards.” She offers the child an affectionate boop on his nose. “Next time we land, I'm gonna find you a glowing toy, what do you say?”

As if he could understand, the kid cheers. He still wants to go back to Selva.

“Time for bed,” Cara declares, holding him close to herself. Like it makes a difference.

She climbs upstairs and sits on Din's bunk as she rocks the kid to sleep. It takes a while because he really isn't tired at all. He got all excited with those stupid cards.

And as she sits there in silence, Cara thinks of Din and Selva alone downstairs, and sourly wonders what will happen to life as they know it after this job.

  
  


*

  
  


Cara's behaviour left Din strangely upset. Everything was so _good,_ they were all having fun, and then out of thin air she got antsy and before he could ask what was wrong she was gone with the kid.

Selva is staring at the cards scattered all over the table as though they were talking to her. She's quiet, pensive. Din can see just vague glimpses of her – the shimmer of her eyes, as dark as the night, the tight set of her lips – but it's enough to tell she's as troubled as he is.

“What are you going to do with your share of the bounty?” he asks, not just to fill the heavy silence. He's started wondering that: in these few days, he realised how solitary Selva's life has been since she parted from Cara; she tries to hide it, but Din can recongnise a broken soul when he sees one and he knows Selva wouldn't mind sticking with them, if they asked her – if she didn't think she was intruding his and Cara's life.

“I don't know,” she murmurs colourlessly. “Probably find somewhere to hide for the rest of my life. I was thinking about Naboo or Dantooine. You know, one of those boring places no one would ever come looking for someone like me.”

It doesn't feel like a viable option: Din knows her vibrant spirit would wither from the boredom with a life like that, locked away from action and adventure. It would literally starve her emotionally.

“Doesn't sound like the sort of life you'd want for yourself.”

With a swift movement, Selva swipes the card from the table and collects them together, concentrating all their glow into her hands. Din can see her clearly, now: she looks sad, resigned.

“I can't have that, anyway,” she mutters under her breath.

“Why not?”

He hears her swallow before she says: “It's cruel of you to ask me.”

“Why?”

The look in her eyes is not of hatred or resentment. If anything, it's a look of sorrow. She tilts her head, a few bones in her neck cracking. She may not beautiful, but she is dangerously bewitching, her aura of sensuality creeping up on Din like a lurking shadow.

“The life I'd want, Mando?” she grits between her teeth, so coldly it stops Din's heart for one second. “You have that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly thought this would get like 3 kudos and 2 comments, but, hey, it was better than I could have hoped for!
> 
> I'm falling in love with these three broken idiots and their stupid lack of communication skills, but you kow how much of a sadist I am, so... yeah. I have a feeling the chapters are going to be more than the 3 I initially expected... Iìm a mess, I alwasy let stories slip out of my control.
> 
> Please, let me know what you think? ❤❤❤


	3. Before the Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit happens. Good shit. Bad shit. Soft shit. Hot shit. Angsty shit. Pick your favourite.
> 
> Little warning: there are mentions of blood and violence, here, and also very mild sexual content.

The plan for Marston's capture takes weeks of refining. They gather information, movements, timings. It's going to be tough, but it's doable. A single hunter couldn't do it, let alone a man, but Cara is confident their strategy is unusual enough to work.

During these weeks, Selva's presence merges into their life so quietly and seamlessly that there are moments when Din feels like there was never a _before_ – like Selva has always been here, silently polishing her weapons in a corner, soothing the child when he cries, cooking exotic dishes from scratch, mending Din's and Cara's clothes so finely the tears disappear, as though they never existed at all.

In fact, they find out she's quite skilled in an impressive number of things. It's just their luck that these things include mechanics: it comes in handy the day the old Crest crash lands in a canyon in the middle of the rocky desert of Daanur due to an engine failure.

Din manages a relatively smooth landing and they all unboard unscathed.

Cara takes the kid to play by the small brook that runs in the middle of the canyon. There is lush grass everywhere and plenty of orange frogs that the child immediately starts chasing, much to Cara's delight.

Din observes them until he's sure the area is safe, then moves his attention back to the ship: Selva has removed the fan panel and is diving waist-deep into the heart of the left reactor. Din can hear her grunt as eerie metallic noises punctuate her curses.

There is a strip of naked skin between the belt of her battered pants and the hem of her tank top. Din can spot a pattern of criss-crossing thin white lines shining under the midday sun. He's seen marks like these before: it's the sort of scar a flagellation would leave behind.

He feels his hands clench into fists at the scenario these scars evoke in his mind – Selva kneeling in the dirt, her back bared to the crude bites of a lash snapping her flesh open, drawing blood and tears and cries of pain. He wonders what she did to deserve such a brutal punishment.

“Well, we're fucked.”

Selva emerges from the engine and jumps off the ladder to land right at Din's feet.

“That bad?” he asks, though he really isn't focused on what she's saying. He can still hear the echo of her screams in his ears.

Selva wipes her greasy hands into a cloth that isn't much cleaner than she is. She has black streaks all over her face and arms, staining her tank top. Her eyes and her sweaty skin glimmer in the sunlight as she looks up at din with a frown.

“Nothing I can't fix, if you give me a couple of hours.”

"Where did you learn to do that?"

Selva shrugs. "Here, there...” She collects a flask of water from the satchel she left by the open ramp and drains it in few, eager gulps. When she rubs the back of her hand over her mouth, she smears the traces of grease all along her cheek.

“After my parents and my sister died,” she continues, throwing the flask back into the satchel. “I did any sort of job to support my brothers. Waitress, seamstress, fisher, mechanic... you name it, I've done it. I did an awful lot of stealing, too, when I was still too young to work.”

She says it like it's nothing. The chill in Din's bones grows when he realises how _young_ she must have been when she got that whipping. He feels a sudden surge of protectiveness toward her; his instinct says _'Hug her, comfort her',_ but his reason says _'It's not up to you, who are you to her?'._ As far as he knows, anyway, she might not enjoy physical contact.

He takes a small step back, hanging his head as if he was afraid that she could see his concern through his visor.

"You're a very resourceful young woman."

Selva offers him a lopsided smile.

"I did what I had to do.” A husky laugh escapes her lips. “I was this close to becoming a prostitute, once. The boys were hungry,” she says, as if to justify herself. “I was willing to do anything to put a single piece of bread on the table."

Din isn't judging her. He actually admires her strength, her dedication to her little brothers.

“How old were you?”

Selva kicks a rock away with another careless shrug.

“Seventeen? Nineteen? I don't remember.”

"Where are your brothers, now?"

A shadow of sadness flickers upon her face; she gives a slight sniff before saying: "Dahl died from an incurable illness. He was just nine. I don't know what happened to Luas. He ran away a few weeks after we buried Dahl. I haven't heard from him ever since."

This, Din thinks bitterly, is the detail he was missing to understand her, to understand why she's so different from himself and Cara, despite all three of them having very similar stories. What makes the difference, what makes Selva so raw and rough and angry, is that she didn't lose _everyone:_ there might still be somebody, out there, a piece of her family she still loves and cares about – a brother who turned his back to her when she needed him most. No wonder she's so reluctant to let people in.

"I can see why you and Cara got so close,” Din says, unable to keep the sadness from his tone. “And also why you fell apart."

Selva breathes out a blue laugh through her nose. "Yeah?"

"People who lost too many loved ones find it hard to trust love again."

"You sound like you know what you're talking about."

"I lost my biological parents and my whole Mandalorian tribe,” Din reveals. He feels like he's opening a door to something, though he doesn't know what. “Cara and the kid are the only family I have left."

Selva sits down on a musk-covered rock with a sigh that sounds exhausted all of a sudden and rests her elbows on her spread knees. She sends up a mirthless smirk up to Din.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to take her from you.” A corner of her lips curl sourly. “She wouldn't follow me, anyway."

 _She's beautiful,_ Din finds himself thinking, and it can't be right. He feels sick for thinking it now that she looks so fragile and so miserable. He's never found her beautiful, and yet all of a sudden she _is_ – dirty and sweaty and looking so broken – and he doesn't know why he's seeing this only now.

And there's something else he's seeing: why Cara fell in love with her in the first place – why she's _still_ in love with her. This isn't the sort of woman you can meet and forget about: women like Selva – _like Cara_ – carve their way into people, and when they go, their absence leaves a void, a longing, an emptiness that will never be filled. Din can see it, now, and he can accept it: Cara's furious, resentful love for Selva cannot be helped or erased; it's there and it will always be there. Din wouldn't wish for it to disappear if it could: Selva deserves this, deserves to have someone who loves her. He can live with it – not with jealousy, but with sincere understanding.

"This is her decision to make," he remarks, and Selva scoffs, shaking her head like she's dealing with an idiot.

"You can't see it, can you?” The half smile she sends him is terribly sad and almost disgusted. “How much she loves you."

She spits it out like poison, and the sadness in her eyes flares into grief. Grief for something Din has and she thinks she doesn't.

It comes as a suckerpunch to Din's stomach. It steals all the air from his lungs and leaves him fumbling, seeking for words to refute her statement, but they don't come.

"It's only-"

"No.” Selva's mouth twists in an enraged grimace. The glare she rises upon him feels like a stab. “Whatever you're about to say, it's not _only_ that. You know it's banthashit,” she sneers, standing up to walk up to his face with a daring fire in her look. “Because you love her, too."

If Din didn't have the helmet, he would be able to feel her lips move upon his own. He lets her spite wash over himself until all that's left in her eyes is the sadness, the hunger for something she believes she has lost.

"That's something you and I have in common, isn't it?"

She can't see him smiling but the softness in his voice gives away enough for her to guess. She hold his gaze through his visor, her lips slowly stretching into her trademark teasing chuckle.

"Besides being hot badasses?"

"How do you know I'm hot?"

"Hot does not necessarily mean handsome,” Selva replies. The low tone of her voice flutters its was through Din's beskar, sending a shiver down his spine. “It's an all-around quality involving character, charm, brains... Though I'm sure you're also stupidly attractive,” she comments, a bit grudgingly. “Not that Cara ever cared for that shit.” She lays down a hand on his chestplate, right there where his heartbeat has started increasing. “Your beautiful soul makes up for any fault in your appearance."

Din doesn't know his own hand is moving until he feels the thin bones of the back of Selva's hand under his palm. Even through the glove and the gauntlet, the warmth of it reaches his skin.

"I've done things I'm not proud of. Bad things,” he says, not as a confession, but rather as an admission.

Selva is so close he can sense her, inch by inch, all over himself. She's still radiating this inexplicable heat, like she's burning inside, and, again, Din finds her breath-takingly beautiful.

She observes their hands, one upon the other, and her eyebrows furrow imperceptibly, as though she isn't sure what is happening.

"I'm sure you have,” she mutters, wistful, then her head tips backward look at din. “But that's exactly why you're a better person than me: you're not proud of it. I've killed people with my bare hands, and I'd do it again.” She glances down at their hands again, then retracts her own, holding it into the other as if it hurt. “You're warned,” she says as she swallows and takes a step back. “If you hurt Cara, I won't spare you just because you got a sexy ass."

"Same goes for you.”

Din feels like a wall – or a dam – just cracked. Something he can't identify has started seeping through; he can feel it dripping, drop by drop, pooling at the bottom of his soul. He doesn't know how longer the dam will hold.

"You're not gonna charm me that easily, Mando.” Selva goes back to her satchel to retrieve a few tools. She glances back at Din as she stands back up: “There's nothing I wouldn't do for her."

"Something else we have in common."

He follows her moments as she slides a couple of screwdrivers into the back pocket of her pants, puts a third one, too long, between her teeth, and climbs up the ladder.

"Looks like we're more similar than we thought,” she smirks down at him.

 _Looks like,_ Din muses. The dripping isn't stopping. The _something_ keeps spilling in his soul.

Selva dives back into the engine, offering Din a better view of the scars on her back. The sight of them makes his stomach clench even more unpleasantly than before. His rage toward whoever did this to her quickly morphs into hatred.

“This one's gone,” she shouts from inside the engine. “I'm gonna have to split the power between the two reactors if we wanna get anywhere close to civilisation."

She sounds very sure of what she's saying, but din can't see how they're going to be able to fly the Crest with only half of the power.

"Will the ship still take off?"

Selva emerges from the engine,

"According to my calculations, it'll be just enough to get us to the town beyond the east crest,” she announces. “But we'll never really know if we don't try."

She flashes Din a wink and a grin so confident she actually convinces him.

"Okay."

Selva giggles, arching her brows. "Okay?"

"I trust you."

This time, it's Selva who looks like she got punched in the stomach. It's gone too fast for Din to read into it.

Selva jumps back to the ground to rummage again into her tools. Din starts walking in Cara's direction to let her know they made some progress; the kid is hopping into the brook , splashing water everywhere, much to Cara's delight.

"Hey, Mandad.”

Din stops and spins back. Selva is giving him a shit-eating grin.

“If this shit works, you owe me a drink."

She can't see him grin back. He wishes she could.

"It will be my pleasure."

  
  


*

  
  


Lao'man is a minuscule village with little sources of interest, but its has a cantina, and this is all that matters to Selva, Cara, and Mando when they saunter into town looking for a place to celebrate.

"I still can't believe it worked," snorts Cara as they find themselves a table in a relatively quiet corner.

Selva is still all greasy and covered in dried sweat, but she hasn't felt so happy and alive in years. Her improvised repair successfully got them all safely out of the canyon and beyond the ridge, and Mando's and Cara's enthusiastic pats on her back were everything she didn't know she needed.

Feeling like this, like she belongs somewhere, is a joy she didn't think she would ever find again.

"Kriff off, Carasynthia,” she retorts, grinning so hard she feels stupid. She just can't help it. “Without me, the old Crest would still be stranded in that hole."

"Credit when it's due," Mando says as he sits down between her and Cara, sets the child down onto his lap.

 _"Drinking_ when it's due,” Selva corrects, slamming her hand onto the table. “Pay up, Mandad."

Joining her in her laughter, Mando throws a handful of credits on the table for the innkeeper to collect.

"Whatever my girls want," he tells him.

Selva's heart misses a beat.

_My girls._

She's sure there is no meaning behind it. There is no reason for her to get so attached to the sound of it, nor she has a right to. It was a mere slip, nothing more. She should just forget Mando even said it, for her own sake; the two words, however, are printed in her head, loud and bright, and won't go away.

"Careful, man,” she warns, trying to sound playful. “I'm a greedy guest."

"Don't hold yourself back, by all means. Tonight it's all on me."

Like earlier today, when she was doing the repairs, she senses a smile in Mando's voice. It might just be what she wants to hear, though.

Cara, predictably, orders a beer. Selva and Mando just follow suit, then he throws in a bowl of fish soup for the kid. Nobody really cares about what they're drinking, tonight: a long, tough day and the satisfaction of walking out of it victorious is what lead them here, and the cheapest beverage on the planet couldn't ruin their fun.

"Gotta warn you,” says Selva when Mando hands her one of the beers the innkeeper just left for them. “I'm not easy to get drunk."

Cara rolls her eyes. "We're not here to get anyone drunk. We're here to celebrate."

"What are we celebrating? Me saving your asses?"

"Being a great team?" Cara proposes, but Selva has a better suggestion.

"Why not both?"

Mando raises his bottle at them.

“Both sounds reasonable.”

That feeling again, like he's grinning under that beskar shell of his. What would Selva know about that? She can't be so presumptuous to assume she can catch his most subtle cues.

They take turns in feeding the child while the other two drink. It's a lovely night: nobody is competing for another's attention, nobody is sulking; they're _together_ in a way they have never been before, sharing chats and laughs and jokes as if it's something they've been doing for years, not just a few weeks. And it's good. It's wonderful.

"Is this something you two do often?" Selva inquires, watching Mando handing the child to Cara, who reaches out for him almost before he moves. They seem to be connected much more deeply than they realise, reacting to one another's slightest hint so promptly it's like they're in each other's mind. They certainly are under each other's skin, Selva reflects with a pang in her chest.

"Only when we come out of hunts in a particularly bad shape,” says Cara, sharing a knowing smirk with Mando that sparks a flicker of jealousy within Selva.

"Bruises and booze,” she says mirthlessly. “It used to be out thing."

Cara glances at her from above her bottle. "Looks like we haven't changed much."

No, they haven't. And yet at the same time they can barely recognise each other.

Selva sits back in her chair, drapes an arm across her stomach as she takes a lazy sip from her beer.

"Feels good to have somebody to share drinks with. Drinking alone is no fun."

She doesn't miss the brief exchange of looks between Cara and Mando.

"This collaboration doesn't have to end with Marston's capture,” he says in a careful tone. “If all parts involved agree," he adds, turning his helmet to Selva.

She doesn't know how to respond to this. This is simultaneously all she couldn't dare to hope for and her greatest fear. There is nothing she wants more than exactly this – this thing they have now that doesn't have a name and doesn't seem to have a specific direction. It's a mess, but it's a mess she could get used to. Except for the fact that Cara and Mando don't really need her here, with their baby, in this life they built together and they're still figuring out.

"That's sweet,” she says, refusing to look at either of them. “But I don't think third-wheeling is my thing."

Cara raises a brow at her. Selva pictures Mando doing the same.

"Have we made you feel like a third wheel?"

Selva faces away, pretending to check the street out of the window. It's dark, outside: there's nothing to see.

"No,” she whispers feebly. “No, you haven't."

  
  


*

  
  


After the incident in the canyon, the atmosphere on board of the Razor Crest starts changing. The veil of uneasiness that was lingering between all three of them vanishes and makes a lot of things clearer to see for all of them. The most blatant of these things is how easily they have adapted to a life as a team of three. Three and a baby.

As the days go by, Cara slowly opens up to Selva and, little by little, she learns a lot of things she missed.

Learns that Selva rarely sleeps at night, and when she does she still cries in her sleep, and wakes up soaked in sweat, screaming from nightmares that once used to be her life.

Learns that once Selva was caught in an explosion in an imperial warehouse and a shard of metal nearly killed her, leaving a thick, jagged scar all across her lower abdomen as a memento.

Learns that, in between a con and a hunt, Selva goes back to Endor to visit her parents' and her siblings' graves. Alone. Always alone.

This is something else Cara learns: after their breakup, Selva never wanted anyone else. Much like Cara herself. Until she met Din and the kid.

And though Cara is not so secretly jealous of how attached the kid is growing to Selva, it's Din she can't figure out.

Selva's flirting is no big deal – that's just how she's always been, her way of joking around people when she's still deciding how she feels about them. What's bothering Cara is how well Din is keeping up with her, how composedly he replies to her teasing with his own elegant, gracious teasing and never misses a beat. Never.

This is one of the things that hurt most: playful flirting was their thing – Cara and Din's thing – and another player in the game throws everything off balance, leaving Cara to wonder where she stands, now.

It takes an almost tragedy to make her realise she's as jealous of Din as she is of Selva.

They're onto a target on Takodana. Cara has just skittered behind a rock to avoid their target's shots. This stupid Nautolan is smarted than he looked. Din is behind him, his blaster ready to fire; Selva is covering him. Cara's move makes the Nautolan turn to Selva: he shoots before she has a chance to react; Din shoots, too, and gets the bastard in the head. A quick, painless end.

Selva lies on the ground in a pool of blood; Cara doesn't even know where the Nautolan got her. He heard Din's voice scream at her as he darts to Selva's motionless body and falls on his knees beside her. Cara's head is light, empty. She watches Din press his cloak to Selva's shoulder; his hands, Selva's shirt, the ground... everything is soaked in blood. Din is yelling things at Cara, but she can't hear them. She can't hear anything for a long while.

“It's not as serious as it looks,” Din tells her, shaking her, as soon as Selva regains her consciousness.

Cara can _see_ Selva is okay: she's sitting with her back against a tree, keeping the wound compressed with a suffering grimace while Din tries to break Cara out of her stupor.

Though Selva insists, and quite fiercely, that it is not necessary, Din carries her back to the ship in his arms. They decide to tell her the kid could help her, but she refuses.

“It's just a scratch,” she says indignantly. “Just give me something to sew me up.”

It's not exactly _just a scratch,_ but it _is_ a flesh wound: the shot only caught the side of her shoulder. Another few inches and it would have been her throat.

When Cara starts cutting off Selva's shirt, Din respectfully leaves them room with the kid. Selva wouldn't care if he saw her fully naked, but Cara knows _he_ cares, so she lets him go, a bit amused by his undying gentlemanly manners.

“Stay still,” she chides while trying to clean Selva's shoulder. As the dried blood comes off, the wound surfaces, still mildly bleeding. This is going to need a lot of stitches. “They got you good,” she sighs, throwing the blood-soaked cloth into the basin of warm water.

Selva shrugs, and judging by how it makes her wince it hurts more than she wants to show.

“I've had worse. I'm just pissed I let them catch me off guard.”

“You were covering Mando,” Cara reminds her. “You couldn't have seen the shot coming. You were lucky it barely caught you.”

Selva's hair is gathered on her other shoulder. She's straddling the seat backwards, head bent forward. Cara's attention falters as she catches herself following the patch of black hair on the nape of her neck dissolving along the curve of her spine.

“Dying for a good man seems like a decent way to go.”

Cara freezes. This is doesn't sound like Selva. After losing her family, she never spared a single drop of empathy for anyone, let alone someone she couldn't gain anything from. This is not the girl she left years ago.

“Yeah, how about _not dying,_ though?” she quips, trying to brush off an odd feeling from her skin. There is an itch in her fingertips as they glide over Selva's wound, the curved needle ready in her other hand. While she works, Selva is so still it's like she isn't even breathing. Cara remembers the endless moments like this they shared in those two years together, the adrenaline rushing through their veins after a fight, after escaping an ambush, the way they would strip out of their dirty clothes and be all over each other for hours, treating the wounds one moment and rolling on the floor the next, hungry for each other, or just for any sort of physical contact. So many times Cara has wondered if anyone else would have done – for her, for Selva – if anyone else could have been what they were to each other in those dark days. Warm arms, soft kisses. Scraps of makeshift love.

Selva breathes out a smile.

“Your stitching skills have improved. Remember this one?”

She rises her left forearm. The pale scar that runs along its inside looks like a mountain ridge. Cara remembers sewing it up in the dim light of the night, her eyes heavy with exhaustion, and Selva laughing from the hysteria of the near death they had just escaped and the searing pain from her injury. They both felt so thrillingly alive and powerful, that night. It was like nothing could come between them.

“It scarred pretty badly, didn't it?” says Cara with a light, nostalgic grin. “I was so clumsy, back then. It didn't help that I was so worried you might die on me any second.”

“Your bad stitches saved my ass, so I still owe you for that.” Selva retracts her arm. She grabs her own wrist to stare fondly at the ugly mark, standing out so starkly against her golden complexion. “I'm rather fond of this scar.” She grins, trailing her fingers down its length, then shoots a chuckle back to Cara. “Especially because of what happened after the sewing.”

Cara can't help a chuckle, too.

“Injured sex was always our thing.”

“We did get injured quite often.”

Cara needs to stop the needle for a moment to laugh. It's true: she collected more scars with Selva than she did as a shock trooper.

“And had a lot of sex,” she remarks as she cuts the excess thread and throws the bloodied needle into the bassinet on the table.

Despite the hardship they went through, she still remembers that time with some sort of twisted fondness. Selva was never a gentle lover – sometimes Cara couldn't tell her kisses from her bites – but at that time that violence was what they needed to stay grounded. The marks they would leave on each other would merge with the bruises from their battles, red scratches and purple prints and moans mixing with tears. Perhaps it _was_ fucked up, but they got each other, they had each other's backs. It wasn't perfect, but it was real.

Selva has fallen silent, too. There is a thickness in her breath that wasn't there before.

“We were happy together, I think,” she mutters, suddenly sounding so fragile. It's like a dart to Cara's chest, because she's right. She's _right,_ but Cara always thought she was the only one who could see how good they were for each other, even despite their flaws.

“We were,” she agrees. Somehow, this makes it hurt even more.

Selva stands up, nods. A small, feeble nod that nearly isn't there at all.

“I'm sorry I screwed up.” She stands before Cara, head still low, shoulders tensing. She clears her throat but when she speaks her voice still sounds like unshed tears. “You deserved better than my shit. I hope Mando can give you what I couldn't.”

 _What is it you couldn't give me?,_ Cara wants to retort, as venomously as she can. _Trust? Love? I have them, now. Is that what you want to hear?_

What she says, instead, is: “We're not a thing, Sel. I don't know what we are.”

This hurts, too.

It's almost funny how Cara can't seem to love someone without ending up emotionally devastated by it.

“You're not a thing,” Selva repeats with a step forward, then another.

Cara should move back. She should just _move._ But she doesn't.

“No,” she whispers, and Selva's nose is brushing against her own when she feels her hand upon her cheek.

“Then he can't be mad at me for doing this.”

Cara barely has the time to register two wet trails running down Selva's face before her lips softly lock upon hers.

She can't stop the moan of surprise breaking through her lips to die in Selva's mouth. Her mind screams _pull back;_ her body cries _more._ Her heart is breaking.

She dives into the kiss like it's her only chance to breathe, her arms curling around Selva's waist following old instincts she never lost. She remembers this body the same way she could remember her way home: the hard plane of her abs, the narrow hips, the two light dimples in the small of her back...

Cara groans when Selva grips her ass to press her tighter against herself. She's smaller than Cara, but fiercer, rougher. She's the one who's always been alone while Cara found a family of their own, and she's hungry for this, she's starving for Cara's closeness, for her softness, her warmth, and Cara can feel this visceral need in how Selva's mouth can't seem to leave hers, not even to come up for air when they're both impossibly dizzy from the lack of it. Selva's hands are cupping her face, Cara's hands are on her hips, gripping hard enough to bruise. They're clinging to each other like they used to do in their darkest days, and this kiss is not a kiss – it's a cry for mercy.

Cara's head is spinning when she tries to pull back, but Selva chases her, captures her lips again, so frantically and desperately that all Cara can do is kiss her back, even though it's messy and sloppy. Even though it tastes like salt.

They break apart only when their knees start shaking, and even then, hearts pounding, they can't allow more than a couple of inches between each other. Letting go doesn't feel right, doesn't feel natural. They never stopped after just one kiss, and it shows, it shows in how their bodies are on fire and refusing to move, skin craving skin, the faint stench of blood awakening memories of their nights cramped together on the ground, of Selva with her fingers working between Cara's legs while she pushes her up against a wall, a tree, both sticky with sweat and their own juices, panting and spent and sometimes happy, sometimes sad.

Cara doesn't know which one it is, this time.

She curls a hand around Selva's neck and rests her forehead against hers as her lungs finally fill with oxygen again. For some reason, it doesn't feel like a relief.

“Why did you do that?” she asks, a pathetic, shaky murmur that hardly makes it past her lips.

They're both trembling like little girls in a storm, and this is exactly what it feels like inside – lightnings and bolts and thunders, and the ground quivering under their feet.

Selva's fingers dip into the tender flesh of Cara's neck. She sniffs, and her lips twitch for a second, then she swallows, face streaked with tears.

“You're no fool, Carasynthia,” she says croakily. She sniffs again, then rubs the tip of her nose over Cara's with maddening gentleness – once, twice – before whispering:

“You know why.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one good thing about this lock down here in Italy is that it's allowing me a lot of time to focus on writing (except when I'm being distracted by hot girls or beautiful fanfic), so here we are. The story was meant to be a oneshot, but, as usual, things slipped out of my control.
> 
> Thank you all for supporting this OT3. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but to those of you who like it... please, let me know what you think? <3


	4. Whatever Walks In My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're trying really hard to figure out what's going on. They're a bit clumsy but they're slowly getting there. Very awkwardly slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavy with angst. It also has a very mildly hot scene. And more angst. And some softness.

Din can tell something happened as soon as he finds Cara punching her bag in the cargo bay and she refuses to look at him. Whatever triggered such destructive energy, it must have taken a high toll on her.

She's soaked in sweat, red all over her face and down to her neck, and Din knows it's not just because of the exertion.

“Is she alright?” he inquires, cautious in his tone as he is in his movements as he walks toward her.

“She's fine,” growls Cara, landing an angry kick that sends a ripple of skin all along the muscles of her thigh. _“Damn fine.”_

Her fury fills the room with a tension that makes the air barely breathable. A sense of fierce restlessness reverberates from Cara's body like a dangerous radiation. Din can perceive the fragility hidden under the violence, and has an idea of what must have spurred it.

“What happened?”

“ _She_ happened,” Cara grunts, sweat crawling down her face, into her eyes. “We were doing great – you, me, and the kid. It was so simple.” She turns to Din to glare at him like this is all his fault. “Now everything is kriffing complicated and I don't even know-” She trails off, her eyes locking with his as if expecting him to get what she's leaving unspoken.

“Why did you have to bring her here?” she starts again, this time with a brittle voice that makes her sound like someone is crushing a hand around her throat. “Why couldn't you just- leave her in that stupid brothel with her whores?”

It's tears, Din realises. The thing crushing Cara's throat, making her voice so strained.

“You know why,” he says. His calm doesn't soothe her: her glare darkens and intensifies while she swallows.

“Do I?”

“We talked, a few nights ago,” he admits, because they can't possibly have this conversation if he doesn't tell her where he stands in all of this.

“You and her? _Talked?”_ Cara scoffs wryly. The sweat dampens her tank top, the strands of hair falling from her ponytail. “Was that the sort of _talk_ that could give you a mini Mando in, say, nine months?”

“Don't be childish,” he chides patiently. He feels bad for wanting to laugh: she's so angry, and she doesn't even seem to realise why, but he does, and while he understands her frustration, he also can't let her take it out on Selva for no reason. “She's not like that. Neither am I, and you know it.”

Cara tenses, the tendons in her neck sticking out. Her wrapped up hands clench.

“She is. She can't do emotions, only way she knows to connect to another human being is sex.”

“She wasn't like that _with me,_ then.”

He addresses her a stern look that's meant as a warning but also as a reassurance. It works, at least partially.

“Okay,” Cara relaxes just slightly. “You _just talked._ About what?”

“About you.”

Wrong answer.

The rage in her eyes returns with a flare.

“Great,” she hisses, breath thickening. “ _Great.”_ She grabs the towel from the floor and turns her back to him to dab it over her face and chest. “I hope you had tea and biscuits to share during the pleasant chat.”

Din smiles. He's glad the helmet conceals this reaction, because, in this state, Cara would positively beat him to a pulp if she saw him smiling. He can't help it, though: he's not sure who she's jealous of exactly – maybe him, maybe Selva, maybe both – but this is her issue and she needs to accept it before it drives her insane.

“Cara,” he calls, but she's back at her punches and kicks and won't listen. Din isn't going to let her carry on with this charade. She needs to face the problem. _Now._ “ _Cara.”_ He grabs her wrist and forces her to look at him. _“_ Stop. Please.”

It wouldn't have worked if he'd demanded that, but kindness always gets through to her, no matter how hard she's fighting. It's a power Din has over her and tries not to abuse: he doesn't want to take advantage of her weakness, but the current situation calls for desperate measures.

She rises her eyes to him, sharp as blades; through her resentment Din can see a pliant surrender.

“ _Fine.”_

She throws the towel across her shoulders and grudgingly waits for him to speak.

“You should talk to her.”

“Why?” she sneers. “ _Talking_ with you didn't satisfy her?”

“She still wants a life with you.”

“Excuse me?”

He can't tell if Cara is shocked or outraged. She might easily be both. Din is no fool: he can see how much Cara cares about Selva; despite the poison they like to spit on each other, there is something lingering beneath it, a silent gentleness they can't completely erase from their eyes when they look at each other. If all this time apart couldn't kill their feelings, what they have must be something worth fighting for.

“She's still in love with you, and I know you feel something for her.”

Din isn't sure why he cares so much about this. It goes against his own interest, after all. In more ways than he's willing to admit.

Cara gives him an odd, suspicious look.

“Okay, where is this coming from?”

“Things have been... different, since she joined us.”

She smirks sourly. “You don't say?”

“It's like we're suddenly tiptoeing around each other,” he says, echoing her bitterness. “It doesn't feel the same as before.”

“Maybe because it's not?” she snaps, and this time the sharp edge of her tone does open a wound in Din's heart.

“Because of her?”

Cara looks away with an impatient groan.

“Of course it's because of her! What did you expect? She used to be _everything_ to me, did you think you could bring her here and nothing would change? I told you she's a ticking bomb! I told you she would mess us up!”

She says _mess us up_ as though there was actually something to mess up. She doesn't seem to remember the two of them are nothing but companions working together; sometimes she forgets, as he does, that they never took any step in the right direction, that they're still stuck halfway between friends and _more._ They can't claim each other's fidelity if they never had each other in the first place.

“She did?”

Cara makes a face that is half guilt half reluctant fondness.

“She kissed me.”

“Oh.”

This doesn't come as a surprise. Selva's approach to any matter is very physical and Din is absolutely certain that kiss was meant to convey a lot of things she couldn't express in words. He wonders if Cara took it as a mere provocation, rather than a plea for parlay.

“Last night,” Cara begins, nibbling at her lower lips like she always does when she's not comfortable with what she's saying. “While I was tending to her wound. We used to make out all the time while patching each other up back in the day,” she looks up at Din with something like an apology in her eyes. “And it just... happened. I'm sorry.”

“Why are you apologising to me?” he asks. He _means_ it, she doesn't owe him any explanation, and yet Cara takes it as a sign of indifference.

“You don't care that we kissed?”

She seems hurt by this thought, and she couldn't be more wrong. The truth is that Din doesn't feel as threatened by the idea of Selva and Cara kissing as he would have imagined. The news is actually giving him some strange sort of relief.

“I didn't say that. But you don't have to explain, we're not-”

“Yeah, yeah, _right.”_ Cara approaches him, hands hanging onto her towel. The scent of her sweaty skin makes Din's mouth impossibly dry. “You know,” she says with a light tilt of her head. “I think Selva is right: denying our feelings isn't going to get us anywhere.”

Her sudden softness throws Din's tactic off balance. He was ready for a harsh confrontation and now she's smiling at him like nothing happened and talking about feelings. _Their_ feelings.

“You have feelings for me?”

He feels so stupid asking this when one second ago they were talking about how she feels about Selva.

Cara's response is a defiant arching of her eyebrows.

“Like you didn't know.”

“I wasn't... sure,” he says, a bit croakily. This is not how the conversation was supposed to go.

And now Cara is grinning, all anger gone, and he tries to tell himself that the blush in he cheeks or the thickness of her breath are still due to the workout.

“Do _you_ have feelings for me?” she asks.

Din doesn't move as she steps eve closer – he _can't._ His brain is too busy trying to make sense of the unpredictable twist in the conversation to react.

“You know I do,” he mutters with an honesty that catches him off guard. “But it's not so simple, now, is it? It's not just about the two of us any more.”

“No, I guess not.” She stands in front of him, lets out a heavy sigh. “This is all your fault, dammit.”

She doesn't seem mad, just... frustrated.

“Do you still love her?”

“No,” Cara answers at once, but it's too quick a reply and it makes her shake her head. “Maybe,” she rephrases, and then: “I don't know.”

“If you choose her, I'll understand.”

She gives him a disbelieving scowl.

“Din, seriously. I would never leave you and the kid, you know that.”

“This doesn't mean you're willing to lose her again, does it?”

Cara runs a hand across her forehead with a weary sigh.

“Why are we talking about this?”

“Because we can't talk about you and me without talking about her,” he says sternly. “We can't keep on pretending nothing is happening between us: we either do something about it or let it break us apart.”

Suspicion starts creeping up Cara's face. “By _us_ you mean just me and you or...”

There is no reason to put this off any further. It's huge, larger than them, but it needs to be discussed.

“ _Or.”_

Cara's eyes go wide.

“You're-”

She doesn't finish, but he can perfectly hear the few little words that end the sentence.

_'You're in love with her.'_

Is he? He doesn't know. What he knows is that _something_ is there and it won't go away.

“I... care about her.”

This is a complication that changes the direction the delicate cogs of this strange relationship are running. The mechanism freezes for a moment, stalls, creaks, then it starts running again, and nothing moves the same was as before.

Din expected Cara to be at least vaguely disoriented by his admission. The fact that she's smiling like that is bewildering. And she's close enough for their bodies to skim, now, and he barely can register her hands moving before he feels them on his hips to tug him even closer.

Her glistening skin is hot and begs to be touched, but Din's attention keeps straying back to her eyes, which are watching him intently and so softly that he can't help wondering if he missed something. They were talking about Cara's feelings for Selva, then about his and Cara's feelings for each other, then about din's feelings for Selva... and now Cara is gazing at him like he just gave her the world.

She's still grinning when she starts leaning toward him, whispering:

“I'm glad you do.”

Her forehead touches his, and he knows that if it wasn't for his helmet this whole moment would take a whole different turn – a turn involving lips tasting lips and hungry moans and shivers beneath tentative caresses.

His voice comes out as a chocked rasp as he says: “Yeah?”

It's happening so fast he can't seem to be able to catch up. It was a foggy thought in his mind until minutes ago, a hope he never dared to consider too seriously, even before Selva stepped into the picture. It feels even more absurd, now, and yet...

“Yeah,” Cara nods as her grins spreads shyly. “This might not be as complicated as we thought, after all.”

The grip of her hands on his hips gives Din enough boldness to fold his arms around her waist. He's craving to feel her, to make sure that this isn't just some sort of hallucination, but she's here, warm and strong and real.

“Then maybe-” He feels weak, dizzy with the thrill of this closeness. His hands tremble while he breathlessly slides them up her back. “Maybe we could...”

Cara's nose nudges the spot on his visor where his is supposed to be; the way she's holding on to him is getting needy, desperate.

“We could,” she whispers, her smile spreading up to her eyes, bright and beautiful. “We could.”

*

Din can't shake off the feeling of Cara's body all over himself, not even after several shots of the heaviest liquor he has on board. He can't sleep the whole night, tossing and tuning, half hard from the mere memory of Cara's hips pressed so tightly against his own.

In the morning, he keeps yawning over breakfast and the girls eye him with a mixture of amusement and worry.

They take separate ways for the morning and Cara asks twice if he's sure he wants to pursue today's target on his own. It's an easy one – a lot of small bounties are easier to collect – and though Din does feel a bit out of shape, it's nothing he can't handle.

They leave the ship together. Cara takes the kid to head to town for supplies, Selva has some personal business to do.

Din heads south where the tracking fob leads him. Their guy is a disgusting old human who's famous for his bloodlust and cruelty toward any sort of helpless creatures, including children. Din would happily kill him, but he's sure a much worse destiny awaits the monster once he's delivered, so he tries his best to catch him with minimum harm. It doesn't go as smoothly as originally planned, but by midday Din has him safely embedded in carbonite.

He's sitting on a stool in the common area, polishing his armour from the dirt piece by piece, when Selva returns. She's carrying something wrapped up in brown paper, and when she rips it away Din catches glimpses of red and white.

Din's interest peaks when the glimpse of red becomes a long silky dress as Selva lifts it up.

“Is that what you're going to wear at the casino?” he asks before he can stop himself. The idea of Selva in a dress is as unlikely and as intriguing as the idea of Cara in a dress.

“This? No way,” Selva chuckles, hanging the dress to a bolt sticking out of the wall. “My body wouldn't do it justice. This one's for Cara.”

Din's fantasy wanders through the soft folds of the dress, trying to paint it over Cara's figure – the low, heart-shaped neckline, the open back, the mere colour of it... This plan to capture Marston might actually work, but Din is starting to doubt he'll be coming out of it with his sanity still intact.

“This one's mine.”

Din looks back to Selva. When he sees her, his chest fills with a warm flutter: she's holding another dress in front of herself – white, simple – and her lips are stretched into the closest thing to a real smile Din has ever seen on her face.

“The colour becomes you,” he comments, the automatic filters in his mind overriding a completely different thought.

_'You look beautiful.'_

He still can't make any sense of this. Selva _isn't_ beautiful, and not because of her scars, and yet he's been catching himself thinking this more and more often – when she smirks, when she disappears inside herself for long minutes and no one can reach her, when she utters that quirky, husky laugh of hers that never fails to make him smile.

Selva hangs her dress next to Cara's and Din forces himself to go back to his polishing. He feels her gaze upon himself before he hears her ask:

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” he replies automatically, but she doesn't buy it.

“Your posture looks odd,” she argues while walking up to him with a scowl. It takes her about five seconds of observation to bust him. “Is it your shoulder?”

Din intended to sigh, but for some reason it sounds more like a badly stifled laugh. He stops polishing to glance at his left shoulder.

“I think it's dislocated,” he says. He tired fixing it on his own, but it hurts too much he's afraid of breaking something in there. “I'll ask Cara-”

“May I?” Selva offers.

Din watches her, sunburnt skin and impossibly dark eyes, and nods, feigning a calm he doesn't possess.

“Sure.”

He tried imagining what Selva's touch would feel like upon himself – if it would be as rough as she is, or unexpectedly tender. Turns out it is both: her fingers are calloused and coarse but extremely delicate as they glide under his shirt and prod all over his shoulder. She takes longer than necessary to assess the damage; he lets her. She's standing right behind him, he can feel her bare legs against his back, hot and taut. He closes his eyes to focus, to see if he can perceive the pattern of her scars, of her muscles. His mind doesn't stop where her clothes begin: it goes up, crossing her hipbone, the neat soft plane of her abdomen and up again, until his breath hitches and he has to stop himself before it's too late. It doesn't help that he knows her body so well, by now, thanks to her utter lack of boundaries. He knows what lies beneath those clothes, the marred flesh, the stories it tells. He's grown fond of every inch of it.

“Definitely dislocated,” she announces. She steps back, and the loss of her hands involuntarily makes him turn back, as if to chase her. “How the kriff did you do this?” she asks with a perplexed giggle. “I thought you were after an easy target.”

“I was. The roll down the cliff wasn't as easy, though.”

“Knew you couldn't be trusted to go on your own, sleepy head,” she quips. Din wants to retort but the words die in his mouth when he feels Selva's hand grab his arm.

“This is gonna hurt, buddy,” she warns as she sets the other hand on his shoulder.

“I can take it.”

He snorts to himself for sounding so _eager._

“So,” Selva begins, letting her hands linger. “Did Cara tell you about what happened a few days ago?”

Din concedes himself a smirk under his helmet. “Between you and her?”

Selva smirks, too. “That answers my question.”

The abrupt tug she gives to Din's shoulder out of the blue makes him cry out in pain. He hates and loves how it makes her giggle, instead.

“Sorry,” she says without a single hint of regret. “I needed you to not expect it.”

She pats his back, then circles around him and goes to sit back on the table where his armour lies, half polished, half covered in dust.

“Are you mad that we kissed?”

He takes in the concern in her look, wondering the meaning of it, if she's afraid that he _is_ mad, or that he _isn't._

“No.”

Selva frowns sceptically and crosses her arms. “Oh, really? And to think I only did that to make you jealous.”

“I can only imagine what a terrible sacrifice it must have been,” he muses. She catches his playful tone and responds with a small, modest shrug.

“Don't thank me. Selfless is my second name.”

This is one of the things Din likes most about her: her wit, the sardonic humour, even if sometimes it gets a little dark. He can't imagine the Razor Crest without her hoarse voice complaining about Cara's morning cheerfulness and Din's insufferable mild temper whenever she tries to tease him.

“If it's you she wants to be with, I respect that,” he confesses, feeling like she needs to hear this, if only to know she doesn't have to hide her feelings any more.

But Selva looks away, wrapping her arms around herself as she mumbles: “That kiss meant nothing. I kissed her first, anyway. I just wanted to feel her again, just once. I'm her past.” She meets Din's eyes, serious, sad. “You're her future.”

“Is this what _she_ believes, though?”

“What are you getting at?”

“She still loves you,” he blurts. “But she doesn't want to leave me and the child.” He sighs. “I don't want her to give up a life with you just because she would feel guilty to leave us.”

Selva tuts. “Give her a little credit, man: she wouldn't stick with you out of guilt.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you want?”

The question seems to take her aback, but not as much as her reply takes Din aback.

“I want you and her to be happy.”

“Me?”

He didn't know _he_ had a place in all of this.

“You're a good man, Mando,” Selva says with a blue half a smile. “I wouldn't give up on Cara for anyone lesser than you.”

_Give up on Cara._

Din can't even think about how devastated Cara would be to lose her again, especially now than Din managed to coax some progression out of her. He admires Selva for her strength: she's willing to go back to a solitary life after weeks she spent here with them as part of a family. It mustn't be easy, considering she's already lost one family. If there is anything Din can do to prevent this, he'll do it.

“It's Din,” he whispers, partly because she's earned a right to know his real name, partly because something deep inside him wants to see his name upon her lips. “Din Djarin.”

Selva paralyses for a moment. She observes him with the same suspicion she has at the beginning, when he was nothing but a faceless stranger to her. He wonders what he is, now. Still faceless, yes, but definitely not a stranger, or so he hopes.

“You shouldn't be telling me,” she rebukes, looking down at the pieces of his armour.

 _Yes,_ he thinks, watching her with a silent ache gnawing him inside. _No shell. Will you bare yourself too, Selva?_

“Why not?” he replies amiably. “You told me your name when we met.”

“I'm not as trustworthy as you think.”

“I think you are.”

“Why so sure?”

“I trust Cara's judgement more than my own.”

She snorts, sending him lopsided chuckle.

“And here I thought you were warming up to me.”

“Who said I'm not?”

His voice floats in the silence. He's still sitting on the stool and she's still sitting back on the table, both unsure about their next move. He wants Selva to be her usual self and tease him, joke about this, but she only seems to be getting sadder by the moment.

“Don't toy with a poor girl's heart,” she warns.

“I'm not,” he promises. He could be more explicit, if he had a better grasp on his own desires. All he knows is that he needs more time to figure things out, if Selva is willing to grant him some.

“You know, when I first met you,” she says, finally turning back to him. “I couldn't see how Cara could be so smitten with you if she isn't even allowed to see your face.”

“You can see it, now?”

Selva gives him something like a smile, only too blue to be one. Without a warning, she straddles his lap and runs her hands down his shoulders to the middle of his chest. As always, she feels like she's on fire.

“I'll tell you this, Din Djarin,” she mutters low in her throat, scrutinising him so closely her breath fogs his visor. “I used to be very curious about what you look like under that thing, but... I've just realised I don't give a shit any more, and can't even remember when it happened.”

His head tips slightly to one side. “Then why do I have the impression my helmet bothers you?”

Selva's hands glide up until they meet the neat line of his jaw under the helmet. She holds his face like it's something precious, her thumbs stroking experimentally over the stubble on his cheeks, his chin. When her fingertips brush over his lips, his breath hitches.

“It does,” she confirms. “But not for the reason you think.”

His hands are on her hips before he even knows what he's doing. She feels so different from Cara – hard and taut where Cara is soft, sharp edges where Cara has tender curves – and yet a familiar jolt of electricity runs down Din's spine to pool at the pit of his stomach in a flame of arousal. Selva rocks her hips over his hardening crotch, gazing at him through the visor with eyes so sad and innocent Din can't remember how to breathe. She gives him a squeeze with her inner thighs; the aching throb in his groin intensifies.

“You think this is all I want from you, don't you?” Selva asks with a shallow intonation that says it's a rhetorical question she doesn't need answered.

Din wants to tell her she's wrong, but the feeling of her heat pressed upon himself is dimming his reason and when she leans forward to rest her forehead against his he feels the leaking dam in his soul rattle dangerously.

Does she know what this means to him? Does she know how powerful a gesture this is to him, to his people?

“What is it that you want, then?” he replies, so breathlessly his voice is barely audible through his lips.

He feels Selva's thighs tense at his sides. They stay like this for a moment, immobile, listening to each other's stillness with their whole bodies. Selva's eyes close as a sorrowful frown darkens her face. Her voice is thin and brittle when she whispers:

“Nothing you can give me.”

She moves too fast. Din attempts to hold her back, but Selva slips out of his grip and rips her hand away when Din tries to hold on to it as a last resource.

The loss of her weight seems to deprive him of all grounding. He feels dizzy, too light and too heavy at the same time, and his swimming head can't think of anything to say or do to stop Selva from striding away without looking back.

Din sits there, paralysed, staring at his own empty hands, still warm from the heat of Selva's body, with a feeling of helplessness he doesn't know how to fight.

Inside, he feels like he's drowning in a tide he knew was coming and did nothing to avoid.

The dam has broken.

He can't remember how to swim.

*

Selva never cursed herself so much in her entire life.

Her moment with Mando – Din, his name is _Din_ – got interrupted by Cara's return and Selva ran away like a criminal as soon as she heard the ramp hiss open.

“What the-” Cara babbled when Selva rushed past her to disappear in the vegetation surrounding the ship. She runs until her lungs feel like they're about to explode and ends up with her back against the trunk of an old tree, panting and cursing and crying.

She guesses Cara and Din are talking about her, now. Cara will ask what made Selva so upset and Din will answer... what? That he and Selva were having a heart to heart? That she kind of confessed that she feels something for him? Will Cara even want to talk to her again after this?

Her imagination races, skipping from one scenario to another, and in none of these she gets a happy ending. How can she? However this goes, someone will end up hurt.

She hits her fists back against the hard bark of the tree, trying to find some grounding, to distract herself from the thoughts that keep pushing the tears out of her eyes and shake her chest with these pathetic sobs. She was a fool to intrude into Cara and Din's life; seeing how happy they are together made her moved and envious in a strange combination.

She doesn't know how long she's been here when she hear footsteps approach. A moment later Din appears among the bushes, still without his armour. Selva hates him a little for this.

“Can we talk?”

She tries to look away, hiding her face behind the dark curtain of her hair.

“I don't think it would be a good idea,” she sniffs, annoyed by the fragility in her own voice.

Mando – Din, _Din_ – misses her irritation, or just deliberately ignores it.

“I'm sorry if something I said offended you.”

Selva would really love to punch him right now. This beautiful, gentle soul. How can he think this is his fault?

“I'm sure you couldn't offend me if you tried,” she reassures him with another sniff. She hastily dries the tears on her face as he comes forward.

“What happened before-”

“- was a mistake and will never happen again,” she spits out. “Copy that.”

The pale sunlight shines down on them through the leaves and the branches. Din notices her hands, still clenched into stubborn fists; Selva realises how badly she scraped herself only when he sighs at the blood between her fingers.

“If you hadn't left, I don't think I would have been able to... resist.”

He spills it just like that, open-hearted and blunt and painfully sincere. And it makes Selva laugh bitterly, because she had no doubt about that: she could feel his arousal between her legs, even through the clothing.

“You want a good fuck, pretty boy?” she retorts dryly. Why does she feel like she's going to cry again? “I can give you that.”

“I'm not interested in anyone's body without their soul,” he says, and this is so him, so damn stupidly _him,_ that it's almost enraging. How is she supposed to guard herself from this man?

“Who said that was off the table?” she retorts in a rather cruel and spiteful tone that finally manages to leave him speechless.

She doesn't want to be petty to him, he doesn't deserve any of this, but if he doesn't leave her alone she might say things she will regret.

“Look,” she continues before he regains his power of speech. “I'm not _that_ unprincipled. I know you and Cara have something going on. I'm not here to mess with you. I like teasing you guys, doesn't mean anything.”

And Din, still so infuriatingly calm, retorts: “I think it does.”

“Your point, _Din.”_

He takes a step toward her. She already has her back against the treat and can't possibly retreat any further, but she would if she could. The mere feeling of him so close to her again cuts her breath in the middle of her throat.

She wants to run away.

She wants to hit him.

She wants to bury her face in his chest and scream.

She wants to-

“We're a family, here,” he says. “I found the kid. Then we found Cara. Now we've found you. None of us will love the others any less just because we're making room for someone else.”

She imagines a mild, patient face under his bucket, eyes as warm as his voice looking at her like she's something that _matters._ She can't afford to take this bait. She can't allow herself to believe she can have what she truly wants.

“I told you: I'm a greedy guest.”

She is. She came here just to sate her curiosity, to see how Cara had ended up with the brooding Mandalorian guy and what their life was like. She underestimated the power of her dormant feelings for Cara. She also hadn't expected she would come to understand, and so intimately, why Cara grew so close to this man – a man without a face but whose soul shines brighter than his armour.

The want Selva feels, now, is a cruel, merciless noose around her heart, and it's slowly starting to kill her inside.

She slips away from where she is trapped between his body and the tree. She starts walking away, trying not to show how much she's shaking, and only turns back for a moment to mutter:

“Don't offer things you can't give.

*

Shit has been happening.

The atmosphere on board of the Razor Crest isn't as serene and playful as it used to be. Predictable: both Cara and Selva didn't deal well with feeling vulnerable, and all of these feelings suddenly exposed has thrown everyone into an edgy mode. The kids senses this and is more nervous than usual: he fusses when din holds him, he fusses when Cara holds him. For mysterious reasons, he only seems to be calm when he's in Selva's arms. Surprisingly, neither Cara nor Din are jealous of this: they catch each other smiling at Selva's gentle whispers to the kid, and this makes the current state of things even more incomprehensible. Everything works so well, and yet nothing feels right.

Slowly, tentatively, Cara and Din allow themselves to explore their bond. It's just little things, touches getting more intimate, words pronounced slightly differently, acquiring new meanings. They never tire of trying to involve Selva in this discovery; sometime she lets them, sometimes she shies away. Din tells Cara to let her go, that she needs to sort things out on her own. Cara listens to him, but still worries: Selva's way of sorting things out was always a neat cut, and this time that is not remotely an option.

Cara is drowning in a cold, black sea when Din shakes her out of her nightmare. She comes to with a gasp and Din's hand on the side of her neck. She can tell by the sound of his breath that he isn't wearing his helmet.

“What is it?” she asks, still shaken.

“Do you have the kid?”

“He's not in his pram?”

“No.”

“Selva-”

“Is not here.”

Cara's pulse spikes. This cannot be. She refuses to believe-

"You don't think-” she begins, but then realises how calm he is, how his thumb has been stroking her soothingly to comfort her from her nightmare. Whatever she feared he thought, it didn't even cross his mind.

She feels his breath over her face; a warm touch brushes against her forehead and presses gently, leaving a print that makes Cara's face pleasantly hot. When he pulls back, there is a smile in his voice.

“Let's check downstairs.”

She hears him pick up his helmet from the floor to head to the ladder leading to the lower ground. She follows him, her knees still weak, and not because of the nightmare.

He holds her hand to guide her through the dark. The common area in empty and silent, but there is a faint sound coming from the cockpit. When they get there, they both hold their breaths: Selva is sitting in the pilot's seat, half turned sideways, with her kegs perched on top of the right side of the control panel. She has the kid nestled between her chest and the curve of her arm, her free hand tracking feather lines down his little nose. His big eyes are looking at her in wonder, the stars shining bright above them. Selva is murmuring softly to the child, a slow, melancholic song that seems to mesmerise him as magically as her loving expression.

_"... whatever walks in my heart, will walk alone..."_

It's like Cara's body doesn't know how to reach: she smiles and tears up and a spark of electricity runs up her arm as she feels din's hand tighten around her. She doesn't need to see his face to know how moved he is, too.

“Here you are, you two,” she says softly, just to announce their presence. She doesn't want Selva to stop singing; she's never heard her sing before: her voice is hauntingly beautiful, low and intense, just as the song.

Selva's head snaps up, eyes glittering in the starlight. Her lips open in surprise.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, taking her feet of the console. She looks so guilty... “He was cranky and you two were sleeping so soundly-”

“Is he okay?” Din inquires, his voice a sweet caress that makes Selva abandon the tension in her shoulders.

“Yeah.” She glances down at the kid with the ghost of a sheepish smile. “I think he just wanted a bit of attention. Here-” She starts to move him to hand him out to Din, but Din puts his hand on her arm, stopping her before she can disturb him.

“No, you keep him.” He sits down on the armrest, watches the baby at perfect ease in her arms. “He looks comfortable where he is.”

Selva looks up at him and at Cara as she joins them.

“I should have told you I was getting him,” she apologises. “I know how this must have looked-”

“Neither of us thought what you think we thought,” Cara assures.

“No?”

Din strokes the child's head, but his eyes are on Selva.

“We trust you.”

“You wouldn't be here at all if we didn't, you dummy.”

Selva inhales a deep breath, lips pressed together. She nods, fighting a smile. Her eyes shimmer more brightly than before.

“Thanks.”

“How long have you been here?” asks Din.

Selva shrugs. “An hour? I don't know any lullaby, so I've been singing him this old sad ballad over and over... He just won't fall asleep.”

“He's never gonna fall asleep if you stay here,” grins Cara. “He loves watching the stars.”

Selva's face lights up with a silent laughter as she looks down at the baby.

“You little shit! You were just going to stay sprawled on my boobs all night long, weren't you?”

“I fell for that so many times, too,” giggles Cara. “He does love the softness of breasts.”

Selva tickles the kid's belly, echoing her giggle. “Can't blame you, kid. That's my weakness, too.”

She impishly meets Cara's gaze, and Cara playfully rolls her eyes.

“Why don't we move this back upstairs?” Din suggests. He gets surprised glances from Cara and Selva.

“My bunk is large enough to fit us all,” he explains, a bit defensively. “We need to take him back upstairs, anyway.”

“Is that an indecent proposal?” Selva teases, and Din's head takes a scolding bend in her direction.

“Maybe some other time where no baby is involved.”

“Oh?” Selva smirks. “Don't think for one second I'll forget about this.”

Din's quiet laugh wraps the whole space like a warm blanket. Cara watches him offer his hand to Selva to pull her out of the seat.

Selva rises easily, light as Din is strong, and almost trips in his feet, landing into his arms with the kid. His embrace welcomes her, surrounds her, and Cara's heart swells with love.

They climb back to the bedroom and into Din's bunk. It's a bit of a struggle to find a comfortable position for everyone, but after a lot of adjusting and overlapping they finally sink back against the wall, snuggled so closely they can barely move.

Pressed against Selva's side, Cara is sure they are all going to be awfully sore in the morning but she couldn't care less.

She watches Selva's head slowly falling to Din's shoulder, her eyes fluttering closed; Din's helmet looks down on Selva, on the child she's holding in her arms, then up at Cara, and her heart throbs. There's a smile, there. She can feel it. She can taste it on her tongue as though he was kissing her with that smile. Maybe, in his mind, he is.

So she tries to hang onto this moment, swallows the sad lump in her throat, swallows the terror that all of this might be stolen from her, and just smiles back to everything she holds dear in the universe, wishing they could stay like this forever – no wars, no wounds, no scars. Just peace.

They fall asleep like this, in a pile of limbs tangled together in a bunk too small, and yet, somehow, not small enough.

Nestled between Cara and Din, the kid snoring upon her chest, Selva sleeps soundly through the entire night.

No more screams.

No more nightmares.

  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the song Selva is singing to the baby as a lullaby.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bw9fnmp_r6k)  
>    
> Next chapter is the last. Much MUCH love to all the beautiful souls who are going through this crazy journey with me. 
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT. ❤
> 
> Comments are love, even a short one can make an author's day. Just saying. 😉


	5. There Will Be No Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you know how I said this chapter would be the last? I lied. No surprise, here, right? Things always get lengthy, with me. BUT I do promise next chapter is the actual last one, and get ready for it, because apparently I don't get to decide what happens in my own stories and a certain OT3 decided they couldn't possibly keep their clothes on, so... yeah, smut is coming. Brace yourselves.

The warmth Selva wakes up to is an alien sensation.

Her joints hurt. So does her back.

She tries to move but she's like paralysed.

Her eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep. The pale morning light blinds her for a second. The first thing she becomes aware of is the weight that presses her down into the mattress. She's not paralysed: she's _blocked._ Her legs are trapped in a tangle of more legs – rough legs, smooth legs – and her body is imprisoned in a space too narrow, unable to move: Cara is wrapped all over her, breasts pressing against her back; Din is in front of Selva, slightly bent in her direction, one hand closed around the wrist of the hand she has pillowed under her face. The poor thing must be so uncomfortable, sleeping with that helmet on.

She wonders if it's always going to be like this, if he'll always be a mystery under a veil of beskar, but then she reminds herself that there will never be an _always:_ she must cherish this moment as long as it lasts. It's a gift she doesn't deserve, but she's selfish enough to take it without questioning it. This... this is something she's going to hold on to until the last of her days.

A light gurgle makes her peek down to the floor: the kid is standing there, watching her with a toothy grin smeared with blood. Is that a bone in his hand? Did this little brat get himself breakfast since no one would wake up?

“Hey, kid,” she greets croakily.

The child's grin widens while he extends the half chewed, drooly bone to her in an unmistakable offer that makes Selva snort to conceal a touched laugh.

“No way, buddy,” she giggles under her breath. “I'm not eating that disgusting thing.”

The kid's ears droop as he lowers his hand in disappointment. His expression is so mortified that Selva feels compelled to make a funny face at him to cheer him up again. It works: he titters sheepishly, trying to hide into the large folds of his robe.

The disturbance almost rouses Cara, who shifts blindly in her sleep, wraps her arm tighter around Selva's waist by some automatic reflex and finally lets out a satisfied sigh.

It's too much.

Cara and Din sleeping around her, this little green bean being so adorable to her...

There will be no _always,_ she reminds herself once again. The child rolls his big head sideways with an puzzled frown, as if he could hear what she's thinking.

Selva tries to find something to say to reassure him, but her mouth is dry and bitter, and suddenly it's like she can't breathe, crushed by the warm weight of Cara's and Din's bodies and the affection she feels for them all.

_There will be no 'always'._

She's never felt her heart so close to breaking.

  
  


*

  
  


No one makes a big deal out of them sleeping on top of each other for the night.

They wake up and lazily start stirring, all complaining about the dull ache in their necks and backs, but there is no awkwardness or embarrassment when they roll out of each other's embrace to stand up and stretch the stiffness away.

“Get yourself a hot shower, man,” Cara says to Din when she notices him massaging his neck, sat at the edge of the bunk. She crawls up to him across the mattress and pushes his hands out of the way to replace them with her own.

Selva still has his moans in her ears when they sit down for breakfast twenty minutes later. She took a shower, too, but it wasn't enough to wash away the feeling of Cara's and Din's skin burning like embers over her own.

“What is wrong with you?”

Selva avoids Cara's look by keeping her eyes trained on her caf.

“Nothing's wrong with me.”

“You're being oddly quiet.”

“You're mad at me. I'm trying to behave.”

At her periphery, Selva notices Cara roll her eyes the same way she always does when she doesn't want to show she's amused.

“I'm not _mad_ at you. I'm-” Cara sees Din look in her direction and lets out a grudging groan. “Okay, maybe I'm _a little_ mad at you. You happy?”

Selva picks up her cup and takes a long, nonchalant sip.

“Because I kissed you?”

“ _Also_ because of that.”

“Technically,” Selva begins casually. “I kissed Din, too. That Mandalorian Keldabe thing.”

Cara turns her salacious look in Din's direction.

“Is that so? He must have forgotten to mention it.”

“Please, don't start yelling at each other again,” he begs in a dramatically exhausted tone that has both Selva and Cara grinning ear to ear.

“Nah.” Selva nudges Cara with her foot under the table. “I love this sourpuss's passive aggressive frown too much to make it escalate.”

A tug at her leg makes her look down: the kid has crawled out from under the table and is holding up his little arms to her in a very clear request.

“Hey, there,” she coos as she picks him up. He's so tiny and light under that fluffy robe.

Din leans across the table to give the baby a light boop on his nose.

“Don't you think it's time to give Sel a break, you womp rat?”

His helmet rises to Selva. Something in the way he moved makes her cheeks grow warm; it spreads down to the rest of her like a comforting caress. She doesn't know how she can feel the affection in how he's looking at her if she can't even see his face.

“Please, leave him,” she mutters. “He's so lovely. I'm really gonna miss him when-”

Her chin dips to her chest as she trails off. She wasn't supposed to say this. It causes the reaction she had anticipated and wanted to avoid: Din and Cara observe her in silence, letting the meaning of her words sink. They don't want her to go, that much she has figured. But this is not about Selva staying or leaving: this is about doing the honourable thing.

Surprisingly, Din is the first to speak:

“You really want to leave us?”

He doesn't sound disappointed so much as resigned. The same helpless feeling is reflected on Cara's features, only in much darker shades. Selva tries to ignore them both.

“Why would I stay?”

Cara scoffs.

“Wow.” She leans back in her seat with a spiteful scowl. “Thank you, Sel. Such a flatterer.”

Din casts her a pacifying look that makes her stare away with a stubborn pout. He sighs when she crosses her arms, and it's such a fond sigh it melts something within Selva's ice-coated soul.

Somewhere in the dark recesses of her conscience, an alarm goes off.

“We thought we'd made it clear you're more than welcome to stay here.”

Selva can't even look at Din, at this point. She just pretends to play with the child's ears, feigning indifference even if all she wants is for him to shut up and let her shroud herself in the conviction that maybe she does need these people, but they don't need her brokenness and her fucked up emotional baggage. She has nothing to offer to them to return everything they're giving to her.

“You did,” she mutters. There is a weight on her chest that doesn't seem to go away. It makes it hard to breathe without feeling like she's suffocating. “I appreciate that,” she adds with a lump in her throat. On her lap, the kid is struggling to balance a plate on top of two nuts: the plate keeps sliding off, making him adorably frustrated, but the failure doesn't stop him from insisting.

“But?”

“No buts.” She sounds so pathetically _weak..._ “I do.”

The plate rolls off the nuts again. The kid's ears flatten over his head, and Selva isn't sure whether to take it as surrender or irritation. Din and Cara are watching, too.

With a huff, Cara bends, picks up a nut from her plate and tosses it to Din, who caches it almost without looking.

“Here,” he says to the child, pushing Cara's nut next to the other two. “Try now.”

Curious about the development in the situation, the kid takes the plate once more and sets it upon the new nut arrangement, waiting to see what happens. He squeals in delight when the plate stands upon the three nuts in perfect balance; he glances up at Selva with a big, marvelled grin – _'Look, it works!',_ he seems to be cheering.

The lump is Selva's throat swells. She forces herself to look away, but she can still feel Din's eloquent gaze weighing on her. She's probably just imagining it, she decides.

The silence stretches, deepens, and just when Selva was starting to think she can be spared this torture, Din, ever so gently, strikes a blade into her heart:

“Did we do something wrong?”

She cringes.

She doesn't have any weapons to defend herself from this, to shield her thinning walls from the sincere dismay in his tone. Why does he have to be like that, all kind-hearted and damn doting?

 _We,_ he said.

_We._

Selva smiles inwardly at this. So these two managed to get _somewhere,_ at long last?

She eyes them both surreptitiously – Cara still obstinately glaring with her arms crossed, Din waiting patiently for a reply – and wonders where they would be, now, if she hadn't come to stir jealousy between them. She doesn't want to take all credit for their progresses, but she's rather proud of herself for this achievement. These two idiots deserve some happiness.

“No,” she mumbles, even though she's thinking something completely different.

_You did everything painfully right._

Dwelling on these thoughts isn't going to be of any help. She can't even look at the table, now, at their three cups standing there together (Din's still full, Cara's and Selva's half empty, by now), among the protein bars and the pieces of fruit Cara has cut down for Din for him to eat upstairs later. Selva wants to shove everything away, erase any proof that this ever happened, because there will be a day when she'll wish she can forget there was a time she would get to wake up in someone's arms, in a place she could have called home.

“Don't you guys have a sparring session to do?” she blurts, just to say something that will break the haunting course of her thoughts. She lets the child munch on the remnants of her breakfast and sits back, nodding to Cara and Din.

“Go ahead,” she smirks. “Have your metaphorical sex, you cowards. Leave us alone to talk behind your backs.”

Selva tries to concentrate of the child playing instead of paying too much attention to the intimacy lacing the glance Cara and Din share. It sparks a longing she knows she's not entitled to feel. Taking another few nuts from all over the table, she hands them to the kid and helps him position them in a circle along the border of the plate.

Cara gets up, announcing she'll clean up later, then nudges Din out of his seat and drags him away when he stands up, teasing him about their imminent match. Selva listens to their bickering as they had down to the cargo bay; gradually, their playful chatter dissolves, leaving behind a silence Selva won't easily get used to again.

The longing enclosed within her chest is an ache, now.

“Your parents are a hot mess, kid, you know that?” she says fondly. “But they're wonderful people, and I'm afraid things are getting complicated around here.”

What she means by _complicated_ encompasses too many complications for her to count, not just for herself. Nothing went as they thought things would go, two months ago. What happened here, between all of them, escaped every control, every prediction; they underestimated, perhaps, the magnetic power of kindred broken spirits recognising kinship in each other, of fragments and pieces yearning for each other in search of completion. Selva can't deny how Din, Cara, and herself have been affecting each other in these two months, their inevitable closeness forcing the sharp edges of their smallest splinters to clash over and over together until they they moulded into one another so well it seems unlikely, now, that they weren't part of the same whole to begin with.

“I ruined everything with your mama,” she tells the kid, running a finger up and down one of his ears. “Now she has you and your papa, and I have no place in all of this.”

She has to stop and purse her lips. Deep inside, the most selfish part of herself spits on her words, calling her a liar. When starts talking again, her voice is thin and fragile.

“I'm glad she found you guys. I hurt her so much, you know? I think she's forgiven me, but I haven't forgiven myself.” This is where his voice cracks. “My Cara deserves a loving family. Your dad is right for her.”

This... this is not a lie. This is the most absolute truth in this whole story.

Din is good, and kind... and he loves Cara. Cara loves him. That's all Selva needs to know.

“Love is some shitty business, you know? Am I supposed to say _shitty_ in front of you?” She pries a nut out of his hand before he can start chewing on it. “I don't think so. Forget about that, okay?”

The baby wiggles on her lap to crawl up her chest until she takes him into her arms and lets him rest his head on her shoulder. With his special abilities, can he possibly be picking up her feelings?

“I'm sorry, kiddo, I can't do this,” she murmurs into his back. “I'm so sorry.”

She doesn't know why she has the impression he's begging her not to leave him.

“I love you,” she confesses. “All of you. Don't tell them, though.” A little, brittle laugh escapes her lips. She holds the child tighter. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

She cannot put this off any more. The longer she waits, the harder it will be, and she can't even imagine it being any harder than this. She pitched in for a job, a good bounty that would also conveniently liberate her from the bounty on her own head. What she's leaving with is a burden she never asked for.

“You take care of those two utter disasters for me, okay? And make sure they act like actual adults and talk through their shit. I'll try to keep an eye on you guys.”

Who knows, maybe one day they'll cross paths again.

  
  


*

  
  


Cara has been shearing off every single twig along her patch since they entered the woods under Din's perplexed stare.

She's still sweaty from the sparring and the idea of going out for a hunt sounded good until Selva suggested she should stay behind with the kid and leave the job to Cara and Din. It was suspicious of Selva to sit out a chance to have some fun, but when Cara saw the pleading look in her eyes she couldn't insist any further. She knows that look, that specific behaviour: Selva seeks solitude when her demons scream too loud in her head.

“She's gonna bolt.”

Cara rabidly kicks a pebble out of her way and proceeds along the path leaving din behind, even though he's the one who's tracking their target's prints. She doesn't really care where she's going, as long as she can keep venting her restlessness.

“You can't know that,” Din retorts, and Cara admires the positivity, but he doesn't know Selva like she does.

“You heard her!” she snaps. “She thinks she's a third wheel. She's gonna get us through the job, take her share of the bounty, and then disappear. _I know her.”_

She realises what that must have sounded like and casts a guilty glance back at him. She is not implying he doesn't care about Selva because he hasn't known her long enough. Nine weeks is a fairly reasonable lapse of time to figure someone out. It took Cara less than three days to fall in love with Selva, back in the day; Din's exposure to Selva's surly character has been definitely long enough for him to know quite precisely where he stands. At this point you either hate or love Selva, and Cara doesn't need to ask which one it is for him.

She stalks ahead, butchering innocent bushes with random swings of her knife. She doesn't even remember the face of the guy they're after, nor how much he's worth. She couldn't care less about this job, or any other job, for that matter.

She's forced to halt when Din grabs her wrist and forcibly spins her around. Cara find herself face to face with the blank glare of his helmet.

“If you're right,” he says sternly. “Then we need to talk her out of it.”

She blinks like he's speaking a language she can't comprehend. Din sighs.

“We want her to stay, don't we?”

“Yes,” babbles Cara, somehow bewildered by such a firm determination. They did talk about this, but the plan was to wait after they caught Marston before bringing their reflections to Selva, mostly to prevent dangerous commotions that could jeopardise the outcome of the job. This new state of urgency subverts all the plans, but if they don't act now, tomorrow there might not be anything to discuss.

Din waits for her to relax, then releases her wrist and takes her hands, instead.

“It's going to take some negotiations, but we can pull this off.”

Cara's head tips to one side as a small, intrigued grin pulls at the corners of her mouth.

“Din kriffing Djarin, are you seriously proposing we go to her and straight up _ask_ her if she wants to be in a three-way relationship?”

“Is this not what you want?”

Cara lets out an incredulous laugh. “This is _exactly_ what I want, but- Do you _really-”_

“You know I do,” says Din with disarming calm. “If she wants us, too, we can do this.”

Cara tugs him forward to sneak her arms around his waist. She tips her head back, stupidly giddy with affection.

“It is weird that this is making me want to kiss you?” she says, biting a coy smile between her teeth. “Like, _really_ badly.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

One of Din's hands leaves her hips to cup her face; his thumb draws a feather arch across her cheek as he whispers: “Will a Keldabe kiss do, for now?”

“Wouldn't be our first,” she reminds him, but his helmet bends slightly and she can almost feel him raise a brow.

“It would be our _intentional_ first.”

Cara takes a moment to let his words sink in. They've been dancing around each other for so long that it doesn't even feel so strange, now, to think of kisses and intimacy. It doesn't feel strange, either, to think of Din sharing a gesture like this with Selva.

They let their heads lean toward each other until they meet halfway. Cara's hands come to rest upon Din's chest. Her heart beats a little faster.

“She knew what it meant, when she did this with you,” she breathes.

He nods against her. “She did.”

“You didn't try to stop her.”

“No.”

This is the thing: there is really nothing left to bare, at this point. The only remaining step is to bring this honesty to the third party involved.

“So it's true?” she asks, almost afraid to let herself believe this is happening. “We both want the same thing?”

Her heart warms at the little laugh Din utters.

“I hope _all three of us_ want the same thing.”

She could seriously kiss him right now. She doesn't even care that his helmet is in the way: she takes his head between her hands and unceremoniously smacks her lips in the middle of his visor.

“Fuck this hunt, Djarin,” she grumbles as she pulls back. “Let's go back and get our girl.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was SO sure I'd be able to behave, this time, but nope, not a chance. Things got out of control again. Sorry about that, I do try to stay on track, but little things keeps popping into my mind and I'm not strong enough to say no. Duh.
> 
> Hope you guys are ready for chapter 6 because I've never ever written real smut before, and even though it's smut with feels. I'm so nervous about it, you have no idea. Oh, well.
> 
> See you soon with the real final finale!


	6. To Divide is Not to Take Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All loose ends come together. Literally and figuratively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the one that made sweat and curse and cry in frustration. As I said, this is my first smut, so don't expect much, I'm still not very comfortable with writing it and I'm not sure how it turned out.

Selva blames the straining tension in her body for realising too late that she isn't alone any more.

Collecting her stuff from all over the ship required a psychological effort that drained her so deeply she had to stop several times along the process and consider what she was doing, tempted to take everything she had been shoving into her backpack and put it back where it had come from – her brush and towel in the fresher, her sleeping bag upstairs between Din's and Cara's bunks, her spare boots thrown upon Cara's in a corner, next to Din's tidily placed ones...

Allowing her thoughts to wander off like that was a mistake she's still paying for almost an hour later, almost ready to go.

Din and Cara are going to take about three hours to get back with their booty; the kid is going to be out for at least a couple of hours before he wakes up for his dinner. Selva has a window of a few minutes left to gather her courage and get lost.

Guilt is gnawing her at conscience. She's ashamed for doing this in the dark after they laid their trust at her feet; accepting to leave her behind with the child was a proof of faith Selva didn't deserve. And here she, is in fact, ready to betray them like any petty scammer out there.

She's about to leave without looking behind, when a tug deep in her soul halts her abruptly and makes her run up the ladder again for one last goodbye. If she were honest, at least to herself, she would admit she knows this is hurting her as much as it's going to hurt _them._ But this is for the best. For once, she has to do the selfless thing.

The kid is fast asleep, snoring in his pram in the very same position Selva left him. She smiles, wiping a drop of drool from his open mouth, then bends to drop a kiss on his wrinkly forehead.

“I'm gonna miss you, kiddo.”

Her steps feel heavier going down than they did climbing up. When she lands with a thud on the floor, she sees two shadows that shouldn't be here so soon.

Selva curses inwardly, hands balling up into angry fists. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Cara and Din are standing there, empty-handed, scrutinising her in silence as a question lingers in the air around them. Cara has a piece of paper crumpled into her in her hand. Selva doesn't need to inquire about it: it's the message she left for them on the table, along with a pile of her notes about Marston and a few tips for his capture.

  
  


_These are all the info you're gonna need to catch Marston.  
Cara's glorious cleavage is going to be more than enough  
to lure him away from the crowd and corner him.  
You guys can do this without me. Enjoy your bounty._

_Please, take care of each other and the little brat.  
Wish you all the best._

_Sel_

_P.S. Keep a steady eye on our girl, Mandad.  
With that dress on, she's going to woo every  
_ _single lady and gentleman in there._

  
  


“What the kriff is this supposed to mean?” growls Cara, slapping the paper flat against the wall at her side. She's _rabid._

Still too stunned, the only thing Selva can mumble is: “What are you doing here?”

“The hunt wasn't worth the effort,” says Din. He sounds disappointed. _Hurt._ The mere thought of losing his respect gives Selva a wave of nausea.

“What do you think you're doing?” hisses Cara, letting the piece of paper float away to move closer to Selva, who can barely fight the instinct to move _forward_ instead of back, as the situation would logically require.

“What does it look like?”

Cara sneers at her in contempt “You want me and Din to act like actual adults and _talk,_ and you have the nerve to sneak away like this without even bothering to say goodbye?”

No, it's worse than contempt: it's betrayal.

Selva can't even look at her. Things haven't changed: she still needs to leave; now it's just going to be harder for all of them.

“The kid is sleeping in his pram upstairs,” she conveys, as if responding to a whole different question. “This is the best decision for all of us.”

“Oh? So we don't have a say in this?”

“What's there to say?”

“We don't want you to go.”

Selva's head whips Din's way. She was expecting to hear these words, but not from him, and not so ardently. She can feel her determination drain away, escaping like water from under her feet. It's foolish of her to ask, but she asks anyway.

“Why?”

Cara's eye roll is so dramatic it involves her whole head.

“It's not that hard, girl: we want you to work things out with us.”

Selva clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “I'm not sure you guys understand the exact extent of what I want from you.”

Hands on her hips, Cara defiantly arches a brow at her. “Same thing we want from you, I guess?”

“Come on,” Din cuts in an imploring tone that shatters whatever was left of Selva's resolution. “Put that stuff down.”

Selva is barely listening. Her brain is still stuck one single detail, the one truly worth her attention.

“What exactly do you mean by _work things out with you?”_

It can't be what she thinks- _hopes_ it is. All the luck in every star out there wouldn't be enough to grant her what she wishes. And yet what Din says next sounds like it was ripped off from her innermost dreams:

“We've talked about how we feel about Cara. We should talk about how we feel for each other, too.”

The instinct of self-preservation in Selva is too strong and etched too deeply in her to let her take a blow like this without cowering and baring her fangs.

“Don't fuck with me, Mandad.” She jerks out of Din's grip, bumping into Cara's arms as she steps back. “You're doing this just because of Cara.”

But Din – Din kriffing _Imperturbable_ Djarin – just stands there and patiently replies:

“No, I'm not, and you know it.”

“Don't be a bitch, Sel,” chides Cara, and Selva sees red.

“ _Don't be a bitch?”_ she snarls. How can they not understand? “I'm trying to do you guys a favour!”

“By running away like a thief?”

“I'm trouble! You guys don't want trouble! You don't deserve trouble! You got a sweet kid and this beautiful life together. I'm-” Selva stutters, sensing a dangerous rattle in her defences. “Just let me go.”

“No.”

“ _Cara.”_ Selva spins around, teeth gritting in exasperation. “I'm rotten to the bone. You know it. You've _seen_ it-”

“Yeah, and I'm still here!” Cara retorts. “We both are,” she adds with a blunt nod in Din's direction. “Wanna try again?”

"I'll screw you up. You said that yourself."

"I say a lot of things I don't mean. Like when I tell this idiot his caf is good."

Din loses his focus for a moment to shoot Cara an unmistakable puzzled glare.

"What?"

"Sorry, man,” says Cara dismissively before going back to Selva: “I'm not giving up on you, this time. Neither of us is."

Din nods in agreement.

Selva is at a loss. She wasn't prepared to have this conversation. Fighting resistance was not in the plans. Ever.

She tries to wiggle away, but Cara is behind her and Din in front of her and there is no way out of this room without going through either of them. They're doing it on purpose. They _don't_ want her to leave.

She stares down at the ground as she mumbles: “You're a couple of fools.”

“Maybe,” Din concedes amiably. “But you care about us, don't you?”

Selva snorts. So this is not the day she'll crack this man's maddening composure. And what can she possibly say, at this point, if not the truth?

She's not even fighting any longer. This is surrender: she knows when a battle is lost. She still wants to run, because what Din and Cara are offering her too much to even think about – everything, _everything_ she believed she couldn't have and it's not being laid at her feet for her to take.

“Duh? What am I, an idiot?” She feigns a boldness that's not there, looking back and forth from Cara to Din. “This chick's been the love of my life since the day I met her. And you, Din Djarin...” She shakes her head lightly; she can't believe how soft she's gone for this man. “It'd take a giant fool not to catch feelings for your chivalrous beskar-clad ass.”

“There's no reason for you to leave, then.”

“You want _me_ in your pretty family picture?”

“You've already wrecked your way into the picture,” Cara interjects with a little laugh that does things to Selva's heart.

“The Crest would feel empty without you,” says Din. Unlike Cara, he sounds completely serious, at least until he adds: “And way too quiet.”

The small laugh Selva utters is involuntary, but it tastes sweet.

“Just wait until you get her into bed,” she quips with a nod at Cara. “She'll show you _quiet.”_

The intent was to break the tension whatever is floating in the atmosphere won't go away. The air seems thicker, hotter. This room never felt so small.

Cara wraps an arm around her. Din takes her hands again.

"Stay with us, Selva.”

“I'm gonna botch this,” she warns – whines? – but the recipients of the warning aren't remotely affected by it.

“We'll fix what needs to be fixed,” Din reassures her, and Cara, somehow connected to his mind, completes:

“But for us to work you need to understand,” she whispers in the curve of Selva's neck. “That not all broken things can or must be fixed. And that's okay, Sel.”

Selva doesn't know how her sudden urge to cry bursts out into a nervous giggle.

“You two fuckers are for real,” she babbles, sight getting misty. “You really-”

She can't bring herself to finish. It sounds too stupid to pronounce. Too unlikely.

But Cara's lips brush over Selva's skin, and Cara latches on her stream of thoughts like she's in there with her, in that messy maze of feelings and fears, and out of nowhere she voices what Selva never thought she had a right to hear:

“Love you?”

Amusement tinges her intonation with bright colours that almost verge on mockery.

“You can say it, you know?” Cara teases with her lips upon Selva's skin. “It's not a bad word.”

Selva senses a smirk coming from Din before he even speaks.

“She wouldn't have any problem saying it if it _was_ a bad word.”

They laugh. All of them, pressed together like their survival depends on it, _laugh,_ low and quiet, and it's so simple, so easy that Selva's head starts swimming from relief this sound carries, making the most unbearable burden crumble off her soul like it was never there at all.

It's not the proposal of being with them that makes her want to cry. It's something deeper than that, way more important: it's the inestimable gift of unconditional acceptance, the awareness of being wanted and treasured for the one she is, not the one she would like to be. She wouldn't even care if they were not _in love_ with her, because they _love_ her.

_They love her._

“Don't go?” someone asks, but Selva can't even tell who it was. Maybe both.

The heat from Cara's and Din's proximity increases at they both take one step toward Selva. They give a chance to slip out of their embrace as they shift to pull her into a circle until their heads are all leaning against one another into a version of their own of a Mandalorian kiss.

Grudgingly, she smiles.

“Okay,” she mutters. “I won't go.”

Just standing here like this with them makes her feel sick for what she had been about to do. Coward. _Coward._ And such a fool.

“I hate you both, just so you know,” she grumbles, eliciting a faint giggle from them both.

“I think we can live with this kind of hate,” Cara replies, and it's not the playful comeback Selva had seen coming; it's a deep, wistful suspire laced with fondness and _desire._

One of Selva's hands finds its way to the side of Din's neck, the other wraps Cara's arm more firmly around herself. Their breathing starts changing, growing faster in anticipation.

"Have you two-" She starts asking the question - _Have you two done this before? Together?_ \- but both of them immediately cut her off.

"No."

Din takes Selva's chin between his fingers, trailing his thumb just below her mouth.

"Something was missing."

Selva gulps, trying to suppress a shiver, to no avail.

She wants to hide how much this admission moves her but quickly realises what a waste of energy it would be. She cannot possibly conceal the storm of emotions that's building up inside her. She doesn't need to any more: she's safe, here. She's safe with them.

This is a first time for everyone – not the sex, but the communion it brings. The mere anticipation seems to draw them closer to each other, eager, hungry, yearning for this sense of belonging that's crawling upon their skin to break under it and spread in their veins with the fire that's already been ignited.

Cara's body is a familiar haven to return to. Selva remembers every crook and every curve better than she could ever remember her way home – how every inch of Cara fills her palms so perfectly, soft and hard alike. She remembers every scar – some they got together, some were already there – and every new one she meets sparks a question. How did she get this? When? Was she alone to take her of herself when she did or was Din the one who mended her wounds, this time?

Din... Din is uncharted territory. He's a book written in scars and silences, lean muscles rippling under a dark, imperfect complexion that smells like the sun. He looks so much like Selva in so many ways they could almost be the same person split in two opposites. She tries to picture him while her hands roam across his back, exploring the sharp lines of his shoulder blades, the smooth dip along his spine leading her to the discovery of two light dimples in the small of his back that make her smile to herself. And this must be a significantly sensitive spot for him, because as soon as her nails scrape over it Selva feels Din grow hard against her belly. Curious, she ventures lower, just past the fabric of his pants, digging her nails into the meat of his cheeks. Din groans into her hair and grinds himself against her, now so hard Selva feels her stomach churn.

Din must sense the tension surfacing into her muscles, because he starts pulling back.

“Selva.” He grabs her wrists and pries her away from himself. She fights back, trying to take a hold of his belt and drag him back, but he traps her hands into his own, refusing to yield to her stubbornness.

“ _Stop,”_ he commands, clutching her until it hurts. Then, more meekly, he repeats: “Stop. Please.”

One of his hands rises to her cheek – an adult attempting to coax reason into an unruly child. He cocks his helmet for a second to glance at Cara beyond Selva's shoulder, then down at Selva again. His thumb strokes the back of her hand as he carefully asks: “Have you ever been with a man?”

Selva's heart sinks, not because of the acuteness of his intuition – not _only_ because of that – but because of the concern and the unwavering respect she reads in it.

She doesn't know why she stutters. There isn't much thinking to do: she's _been_ with men before, but this is not what he's asking. The answer to his question is that she's never had a man inside her.

“No.”

She expects Din to step away from her like she was a virgin who needs to be protected. He doesn't.

“We should end this here.”

Selva appreciates that he expresses his heart-felt opinion but still leaves the decision to her.

“No,” she replies firmly, leaning into his hand with a silent plea in her eyes. “Please, I- I need-”

“Let's just slow things down,” suggests Cara coming forward. She takes Selva's free hand and offers her a smile that is half reassuring and half provocative. She comes closer, wraps an arm around Selva to whisper in her hair: “Show us what you need.”

“You know what I need,” she whimpers, and almost curses when Din objects:

“She's not ready.”

Cara sends him a knowing smirk.

“I think she is.”

She takes his hand and leads it down Selva's trousers. A choked moan erupts from low in Selva's throat when Din's coarse fingers brush over the sensitive skin of her folds. If she wasn't wet before, she definitely is now. She leans back against Cara's chest to seek more friction with Din's touch and he moans, too, so beautifully helpless, when two of his fingers slip inside her as she presses herself down on him. She's tight, even for just two fingers, but Din's fingers are not the thin feminine fingers she's used to: they stroke he walls tenderly, the trajectory of his gaze locked with Cara's beyond Selva's shoulder. Cara's approval guides his movements as much as Selva's reactions: he tunes in on both, observing, listening, his breath getting heavier as Cara's and Selva's get heavier.

“You okay?” Cara asks in Selva's ear.

“Too much clothing,” pants Selva. Her thighs are shaking, already soaked. She wants Cara's arms _under_ her shirt. She wants to spread her legs wider for Din, but these damn pants won't allow it.

Cara looks up at Din with a mute question. He gives an imperceptible nod that makes Selva think back of something he told her – _'I trust Cara's judgement more than my own.'_

“Less clothing, then,” Cara grins against Selva's neck, and her hands are already working to free Selva of her jacket, slipping it down her arms as her lips trace a wet line on her shoulder, bringing back memories of times when moments like this used to taste of anger and tears. Now, there is only tenderness. _Only love._

Selva is too focused on the agonising slowness Din takes to pull her pants and underwear down her legs to realise Cara has been taking her clothes off, too. She only notices when Cara pulls her back to herself and Selva's back meets the softness of her breasts, the hard buds of her nipples scraping ever so gently over Selva's shoulder blades. Cradled between Cara's legs, bent at her sides, Selva can feel the heat and the dampness of Cara's arousal against the small of her back. It makes her want to turn around, kneel, wrap her arms around those beautiful thighs and close her mouth upon her dripping folds, taste her again after such a long time, but she knows Cara wouldn't let her, now. They're here for Selva, right now, both Cara and Din: they want her to feel the love they're offering her, they want her to believe, and Selva _needs_ this – _all of this._

Din discards Selva's pants and underwear along with her boots and allows himself a moment to take her in while she lies in Cara's arms with her legs parted wide for him. The strangled breath that gets stuck underneath his helmet makes Selva smirk mischievously.

“Like what you see, Mando?”

“Yes,” he whispers, voice thick with arousal. He runs his hands up Selva's bare legs, thumbs swiping across every scar they meet until they reach her hips. The bulge in his crotch is swelling so quickly Selva can't help wondering how he can resist the temptation to touch himself.

Cara leans forward, biting that spot in the crook of Selva's neck that she knows will make her mewl, sending Din a provocative glance as she does so.

“Take those things off and give it to us, buddy.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. Without tearing his attention off them for a single second, Din takes his time to wring out of his armour, putting on a show Selva won't easily forget, until only his helmet remains. And then his clothes are gone, too, and Selva feels Cara whimper when he pushes his trunks out of the way, finally realising his erection. He's red and throbbing, bigger than Selva expected. She knows she's tight and can't help wondering, even though this is going to hurt her, if she will feel good for him.

Cara's hands cup around Selva's small breasts, kneading gently. She still remembers how to do this, how Selva likes her nipples rolled and pinched between her fingertips. Selva arches, pulse climbing, while Din crawls forward between her legs until she feels him, hot and slick, against her folds.

She encourages him to come closer, wrapping her arms around him. His helmet rests upon her forehead as he trembles under the caresses she's running down his back. He groans when Selva rises her hips to rub herself along his shaft. She's so wet her juices slick him up, mixing with his pre-come, making him hiss in a way that elicits a sharp moan from Cara, whose lips are still sucking on Selva's shoulder.

As if responding to a cue, Cara's left hand leaves Selva's breast to venture down her torso and past her belly. When she reaches Selva's centre, Selva jerks from the jolt of pleasure the firm stroke of Cara's fingers over her clit sends throughout her body.

“You sure about this?” Cara inquires as her hand keeps stroking between Selva's folds, spreading her juices until Selva feels them drip down to her ass. She's so sensitive right now that she might come from a single breath of air.

She turns into Cara's arms to look into her eyes; the love she finds in them moves her to tears, but she smiles and reaches up, places a hand on her cheek to pull her down into a kiss that Cara returns with a smile of her own. She's dying to kiss her, but if Din can't kiss and be kissed, then none of them will.

“Never been so sure.”

Din's hands linger on Selva's knees. He's glancing down at them – at his bare leaking erection and her waiting entrance – and what he's thinking is quite obvious.

“Shouldn't we-” he begins, but Selva impatiently drags him down.

“Don't worry, pretty boy. Nothing's gonna happen,” she reassures him, unable to keep an edge of sadness from her voice.

Din and Cara exchange a look. Selva grabs Din's ass and presses him against herself, smothering the budding question she can feel forming in their minds. This is not a conversation she wants to have now. Preferably never.

When Selva grabs him, Din dips his helmet with a suffocated groan that sends a rush of heat pooling between her legs. Starving for a connection, she guides him inside her and Din follows diligently, easing himself onto her with a hand bracing him up to the floor and the other holding her leg on his hip. The sensation of fullness he gives her compares to nothing she has ever felt before. She holds her breath, struggling to ignore the discomfort in favour of the spark of _want_ slowly surfacing as he delves deeper, ever so cautiously.

"You're tight," he grunts. She can tell he's holding himself back to be as delicate as he can. "I don't want to hurt you, Selva-"

"It hurts,” she admits, however reluctantly. She won't lie to him. Ever. "But I'll kill you if you stop."

"Trust her," smiles Cara. "It's a good kind of hurt."

Selva bleeds when Din, emboldened by her reassurance, fully slides inside her. She cries and squirms, but begs him not to stop. She's wet and panting and her nails dig into his back with a desperation that brings tears to her eyes. He's gentle and caring, asks her to direct his touches to make this better, to teach him how to move, when.

Cara doesn't need guidance. She knows Selva's body better than her own. Selva's scars are a map she hasn't forgotten: her tongue traces the puckered lines of the ugly scar tissue that disfigures the left side of Selva's abdomen below her navel, follows their broken paths wherever they lead her, and Selva writhes and moans when the pace of Din's thrusts start matching Cara's gentle ministrations until Selva's senses are so overwhelmed that she can't tell one from the other any more.

"You should find yourself a better position, Carasynthia,” she mumbles, her slacked speech punctuated by the cadence of Din's thrusts. “Our pretty boy wants to touch you, and frankly so do I."

Cara bites her earlobe with an impish snicker.

"I know exactly what you want, you little shit."

Din eases Selva to the ground while Cara slips away from behind her. The new angle changes the dynamic of Din's strokes, which now reach a spot that makes Selva sob in an explosion of pleasure just when Cara straddles her and offers herself to her.

A shiver runs down her spine at the familiar, inebriating scent of Cara's sex filling her lungs after such a long time.

“Hello, beautiful,” she greets as Cara lowers herself to her mouth, allowing Selva to crane her neck and press a kiss to the hood of flesh protecting Cara's clit. “How I missed you,” she purrs, licking her lips as she contentedly drops her head back.

Din's right hand is holding Selva's thigh against his flank; he folds his left arm around Cara to pull her to himself, his hand rising to splay around one of her breasts, squeezing lightly. Cara reaches up behind herself to curl her hand around the nape of his neck. She leans back into him, smiling as she whispers: "Better?"

"Much better."

Selva's heart swells at Cara's complete abandonment, at the expression of pure bliss and satisfaction blooming on her face as her head falls back to Din's shoulder while he buries his face into her neck and Selva kisses the tender skin of her inner thigh before turning her full attention to the damp heat between her folds. She's rewarded with a loud cry when her tongue teases Cara's entrance with slow, little licks that turn Cara's power of speech into incoherent humming.

Selva is chuckling against Cara's salty dampness when a particularly powerful thrust from Din hits that spot inside her again and ignites a fire in her loins, blinding her with an unexpected surge of desire for _more._

"Yes!" she cries, arching desperately against him, gasping over Cara's sensitive wet skin. "Harder!"

Din pulls out and angles himself carefully, then pushes back into her. Selva groans in ecstasy, stars exploding beneath her eyelids. This is a sense of fullness a girl's fingers, however skilled, could never provide. It's a shade of pleasure completely new to her, and she's sure it wouldn't feel so good with someone else: half of her arousal comes from Din's attentiveness, from his unwavering concern about making this an experience as enjoyable for her as it is for him.

"Keep going," Cara instructs, panting heavily from the diligent, expert strokes of Selva's tongue. "She's close."

"Me too," Din groans.

Judging by her breathlessness, Cara isn't that far from her climax, either.

She smiles down at Selva and the sight of her _watching_ Selva eating her out makes Selva smile back – at Cara, at Din, at the beauty of them tangled together above her, sweaty and gasping and gorgeously flushed.

Din's rhythm is getting greedy and frantic, all his control gone with Selva's initial discomfort. They all rock together at this magnificent synchronised tempo, connected as one as they ride waves of ecstasy in unison, in a togetherness that couldn't be any more intense, any more _true._

Selva's orgasm is building up fast, pooling in her loins like fire; she's already tensing all over when she hears Din grit out a muffled moan. Selva's walls clench around him as he spills inside her with one final erratic thrust, and a shock of pleasure takes over her whole body, crushing the air out of her lungs as she cries into Cara's damp flesh, and suddenly Cara is crying out loud, too, her own walls shaking and tensing so beautifully around Selva's tongue. She welcomes the hot wetness gushing out of Cara with flat, eager licks that make Cara shudder and fall back breathlessly against Din.

They collapse to the bed of clothes scattered on the floor in a tangle of arms and legs refusing to let go of each other.

Selva's hands grab Din's ass as soon as he tries to roll off and out of her. Her heart is beating so fast it's making her dizzy.

“Please,” she begs. “Just... give me a moment.”

She isn't ready to feel empty. She needs this closeness, this sense of completion coming from Din and Cara still holding on tight to her, grounding her as they ride off their orgasms together, skin against skin, breathing each other and the intoxicating scent of sex surrounding them.

She doesn't know how long it is before she lets Din drop off at her side with a blissful sigh. Could be minutes. Could be hours. Could be days. None of them seems to care.

In the haze of the afterglow, Selva lies on her back, Din on her left, Cara on her right, all of them spent and heaving and apparently rather smug with themselves.

She dives a hand between her thighs and brings the other to her chin, chuckling to herself at the slickness she meets – her own juices, Cara's, Din's seed... She's marked all over, theirs as they are hers, and this sudden awareness washes over her and spills into her heart, filling her with a peculiar urge to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Hey." Cara cuddles up to her side, enveloping her in a one-armed embrace. Her lips brush Selva's shoulder as asks in a husky voice: "You okay?"

Selva licks her lips, nodding. She inhales a deep breath, eyes dropping to Cara's mouth.

"Never been so wonderfully sore."

She doesn't remember ever feeling so calm, so intimately at peace. The tiredness, the ache in her limbs, the emotional overwhelm... she basks in all of this unable to focus on one thing at a time, too amazed, too _happy_ to even think.

Din rests a hand on her stomach; he fondles the soft skin where it meets the patch of scar tissue, making Selva whimper at the coarse touch of his calloused fingertips, then he moves his caress to shyly ghost the tips of his fingers over Selva's nipples and around, along the tender flesh, swiping his thumb over them until they rise and harden under his attention. Selva sighs, savouring the sensation, and giggles when Cara's hand, too, starts stroking her, following the trail of Din's touch until she reaches his arm, his bicep, his shoulder, while Din's hand glides back down across Selva's belly to find the streaks of blood between her legs. His other hand buries in her hair as his thumb traces small, apologetic circles over her forehead.

"I'm sorry about this."

The genuine worry in his tone would make it impossible for her to blame him even if there was anything to blame him for. There was blood, and there was pain, but this is the first time Selva can welcome blood and pain with joy, and she wouldn't trade this for anything in the world.

She's never felt so cherished.

She's never felt so loved.

"Don't be,” she soothes, looking straight through his visor as if she could see his eyes. She's sure she's never smiled so softly before. “It'll get better in time," she promises, and the implication that this is going to happen again – and _a lot_ – causes a feeble groan deep in Din's throat that makes her and Cara giggle.

Selva doesn't know how this can feel so natural – lying here, naked and sweaty and stupidly blissful, basking in each other's presence like it's the end of the universe and they don't even care, because they have _this._

Selva refuses to wonder how differently this might have handed if she'd managed to sneak away. If she'd been more obstinate, more arrogant. She never wants to find out.

She doesn't know when they fall asleep or how long they sleep. All she knows it's that it's dark when she opens her eyes again. There is only shadows around her, the minuscule pin-like lights tracing the outlines of the ship walls along the ground.

She feels a soft, wet touch on her shoulder and her hearts stops when she feels a coarse tickle along with it. She doesn't know when Din removed his helmet. 

“None of us is young enough to make floor sex a habit,” he whines as he rolls up to her side, his voice sweet and free of barriers and restraints.

“Those bunks are too small to fit all three of us in normal conditions,” Cara huffs, half sprawled along Selva's other side. “Let alone at that level of physical endeavour.”

The choir of their laughter comes out hoarse and sleepy. This is an image Selva never wants to forget: all of them curled into each other, skin upon skin, so comfortable and pathetically _happy._

She cannot guarantee she won't fuck this up. What she _can_ guarantee is that these two won't hesitate to call her out on her bullshit, and this is what someone like her needs, after all: not someone who _heals_ her, but someone who can help her lick her wounds and carry the pain.

“So we're going to end up sleeping on the floor every time we fuck?” she grins, intertwining her fingers to the hands they're resting on her chest to bring them up to her lips.

She loves how Cara and Din do not falter a single split second before they cheekily reply in unison:

“ _Always.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honesty time: smut was never meant to be a part of this fic. Seriously, this was supposed to end with the triple Keldabe kiss, that was it. But as I wrote THAT ending, these three started doing things and I couldn't stop them. Their fault, I swear.
> 
> Thank you for walking this crazy path with me and for not leaving me alone in loving this unlikely OT3. I'm glad I got so much love and support, I wasn't expecting this. <3
> 
> Comments are love, so I'd be happy to hear what you guys thought of this.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a huge sucker for polyamory and when this story started forming I knew I was a goner for it before it even reached its final form. I hope you guys will give Selva a chance and above all I hope I can make this OT3 work convincingly. I love challenges, so let's see how it goes.
> 
> As usual, I'd love to hear what you think of this!


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